


A Variety of Nothing

by AnonymusBosch



Series: Stardust [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25483111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymusBosch/pseuds/AnonymusBosch
Summary: “I have made you uncomfortable once again,” Seven said quietly. “I had thought since we were in a private setting—”“You’re quite right, Seven, it’s just—” the Captain clamped her eyes shut, and opened them back up to the Borg with forced lightness. “I suppose I’m not very good at accepting compliments.”Janeway stood, the movement alerting Seven to the conclusion of their evening. Seven rose, and stepped far too close to the petite woman. An expression of gentleness, cut with a simmer of heat, colored the blonde’s face.With a voice like warm honey, she said, “Then perhaps you shouldpractice, Captain.”—Or, two women learn to appreciate the beauty of the mundane during the sojourn of a single spatial grid. Begins shortly after “Night” and breaks off thereafter. Minor liberties were taken.
Relationships: Kathryn Janeway/Seven of Nine, Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Series: Stardust [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100615
Comments: 42
Kudos: 129





	A Variety of Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> “A variety of nothing is superior to a monotony of something.” — Jean Paul, 1807

###  **I. Give My Compliments to the Captain**

**Day 1**

Kathryn Janeway ran a finely-boned hand through her bobbed auburn hair, and rolled her neck against the strain of her sleep-starved muscles. She could sense that her staff was eager to get action in the undiscovered sector ahead of them after so long in that monotonous void. For Captain Janeway, insomnia remained her constant bedfellow despite being far beyond the dark malaise, and she found the roteness of their daily meetings wore on her nerves.

“Let’s wrap up with Astrometrics, and then go on about our business. Seven?” the Captain prompted, shifting her attention to the tall blonde to her right. Former Borg Seven of Nine was the only member of Janeway’s Senior Staff who always elected to stand during the daily check-in, though her appearance alone would have set her apart from the rest of her colleagues no matter her positioning. Statuesque and uncommonly handsome, Seven was distinct from nearly every other entity in the universe, as she was a human woman whose survival depended on the vestigial remnants of technological Borg circuitry that ran underneath her skin, and in limited occurrences, manifested itself atop the dermis as metal starbursts and strangely elegant curves in tasteful, yet sparse punctuation all over her body. Far from detracting from her striking form, Janeway thought the lustrous bits of mechanization seemed to contribute to Seven’s appearance, casting her, quite accurately, in an otherworldly light.

“Captain, I have concluded my navigational evaluation of spatial grid 21-300, which we will enter within 96 hours. I have detailed the analysis for your perusal here.” Seven said, inclining her head toward the auburn woman at the head of the table. She supplied a Personal Access Display Device from the clasped hands at her back and held it out to the Captain, arm stretching her form-hugging biosuit. “You will find my recommendation to be our most efficient route,” she added confidently.

Janeway leaned sideways over the table to accept the PADD. “I’m sure I will,” she said, wry amusement coloring her intonation.

Seven resumed her severe posture with hands at parade rest. “Lieutenant Paris and I will meet at 09:00 hours tomorrow morning to integrate the updated route into his piloting systems at the helm.” Seven paused. “Pending your approval of the course, Captain.”

Across the conference table, the boyishly fair Tom Paris flicked a finger toward Seven in mock salute. Janeway, head already bent over Seven’s tablet, missed the small act of camaraderie.

“And what of the nebula we’re skirting at 21-mark-327-mark-12?” the Captain asked, without looking up from her reading.

Seven nodded once. “Based on my observations, it is a class-J nebula, though it is impossible to determine from our current distance if deuterium can be safely harvested. I have included an alternate route in my analysis for Voyager to traverse through the nebula in question, if I am able to confirm suitable stability of its ionized gas components prior to 21-mark-320-mark-01.”

Janeway raised an eyebrow. “And this alternate route is already included in your report?” she asked, lifting her eyes and PADD off the table.

If Janeway did not know the undemonstrative ex-Borg better, she would have supposed Seven was fighting a smirk. “Correct. I anticipated that you would open this line of inquiry with me, Captain.”

“Naturally,” replied Janeway with a hint of playfulness. She placed the tablet down on the tabletop in finality. “Good work, Seven. Anything else?” she asked, rising slightly from her chair, expecting her Crewman’s ‘no’ to be the last word of the meeting.

“Yes,” Seven answered instead. 

Janeway exhaled, slid back into her seat, and tilted her head upward to the Borg. “Go ahead.”

Seven took a breath. “I am inclined to offer my compliments as to your personage, Captain.”

Janeway furrowed her brow in confusion. _My personage_? At the opposite end of the table, she heard the Doctor whisper a weary, “Oh _no_ ,” before bringing a hand to his holographic temple.

Seven, undeterred by the interruption, maintained eye contact with the Captain and continued. “I perceive that you have many admirable qualities including, but not limited to, your immense competence as Captain, integrity as a diplomat, and keen intellect as a scientist. I find, however, that all of these laudable characteristics can only be eclipsed by your undeniable and captivating beauty.”

Janeway’s face seemed to process this flattering speech from her Astrometrics Head before her brain did, with her eyebrows shooting up in shock and mouth dropping agape. The overtaxed muscles connecting her shoulders and neck pulled taut. A nearly inaudible scoff escaped the Captain’s throat in place of her usual eloquence.

Around the conference table, Janeway’s Senior officers appeared equally frozen. Commander Tuvok cut his dark eyes to the bulkhead above, his oblique brow raised in mild surprise. Ensign Harry Kim turned ruby-red and fixed his eyes upon his fingers laced together on the table. The Doctor sunk further into his hand, misery pouring off him in waves. Tom and Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres wore twin expressions of melded astonishment and awe, while Commander Chakotay pursed his lips in tight anger. Seven, for her part, appeared as cool and detached as she had when delivering her departmental report. If she noticed something amiss amongst her colleagues after her revealing diatribe of their Captain, she showed no outward sign.

Tom sniffed deeply and steepled his fingers under his nose. After a beat, he inclined his adjoined fingertips toward the blonde stunner across from him, drew a quick breath, and finally broke the silence.

“Say more about that, Seven.”

“ _Tommy_!” hissed B’Elanna, his bronze half-Klingon girlfriend, while all eyes, including a wildly alarmed Janeway, shot in his direction.

“Very well,” responded Seven compliantly, with the ghost of a shrug in answer to Tom’s request. “I find your body and visage to be exceedingly pleasing,” the blonde said, eyes roving over the Captain’s form shamelessly from ankle to crown. “With your expressive hands and fine, gray eyes appearing most enticing to me. Further, your voice elicits—”

“Okay… okay,” interrupted the Captain, holding up both palms in surrender. “Ah, th-thank you… Seven, I… okay,” she stammered, cheeks turning pink. Seven quieted.

To Janeway’s left, Tom, shaking his head in wonderment at the ex-Borg, pulled a PADD from his chair, and began rapidly thumbing out notations on the keys. “Legend. _Legend_ ,” he murmured.

“This little outburst of yours is inappropriate, Crewman!” the swarthy Commander Chakotay seethed through his grinding molars, his eyes daggers in Seven’s direction. The Borg, contrarily, flattened her mouth in apparent boredom of her XO’s interjection. Chakotay lowered his tribal-tattooed brow, continuing, “The Captain is not—”

“Chakotay,” edged Janeway, her tone belaying her First Officer’s impending dressing-down of the young woman. He flexed his jaw and ceased as ordered.

“Captain, if I may?” inserted the fastidious Doctor, holding up a hand by his bald scalp. Janeway whipped her head in her holographic Chief Medical Officer’s direction, brows twisting in aggravation. _Yes. Explain this!_

“As you are aware, I have been instructing Seven of Nine on the intricacies of human social behavior. She approached me recently about her desire to forge an intimate—” the Captain’s eyebrow rose even further “—that is to say, to develop closer interpersonal relationships,” he amended, shifting tact. “I informed her that relaying her heartfelt, positive thoughts about another person in the form of a compliment is an excellent and efficient way to reinforce social bonds.”

“I deemed this particular advice to be useful,” Seven supplied in her characteristically low monotone.

The Doctor looked toward his pupil, beaming brightly. “Thank you, Seven! I do enjoy our lessons, and it is so nice to be acknowledged for one’s efforts!” He paused, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Unless of course you are implying that my previous advice on social behavior has _not_ been useful. In which case, I—”

“Doctor!” the Captain cut in, desperate to forestall any tangential monologue from her long-winded CMO.

“Right, Captain,” he continued, fixing his photonic face in an expression of contrition. “I regret that I did not instruct our resident Borg as to the proper timing and setting for such, shall we say, _personal_ observations to be delivered. My apologies.”

The Captain’s frustration and embarrassment appeared to deflate at the Doctor’s explanation. She sighed as the tension in her shoulders loosened.

Meanwhile, Seven’s arched metallic cortical implant, in place of an eyebrow, quirked up in annoyance at the Doctor’s repentance. “I fail to see how my selection of time or location was inappropriate in expressing my sentiments of Captain Janeway,” she said eager to defend herself. “The business of our meeting had concluded, and we are all, at a minimum, cordial with one another. In any case, that the Captain is beautiful is an objective fact.” Her defense was met with fresh silence and wide eyes, which Seven interpreted as disagreement. She pushed a breath through her nose, and all but rolled her eyes in indignation at her colleagues. “I find it _highly_ improbable that I am alone in this assessment of her beauty.”

The Captain’s blush burned anew across her high cheekbones. Beside her, Chakotay fumed.

Tom, continuing to furiously type into his PADD, huffed out a chuckle. “This is great stuff, Seven. You could pick up so many women this way.”

“I have no need to acquire ‘so many women’ as you suggest, Lieutenant Paris. For a satisfactory relationship, I only require one,” Seven replied with her usual guilelessness.

The blonde pilot snapped the fingers of a hand in her direction, and pointed. “That’s a winner too, Sev. ‘Only… require… one…’” Tom echoed while typing the words into the tablet. “I already got the body and visage bit. Captivating beauty, objective fact. Fine eyes. Hot for the hands…” he muttered under his breath.

“ _What_ are you doing?” snapped B’Elanna.

“Ummm, I gotta write these down?” said Tom in a tone of stating the obvious.

“If you try any of these lines on me, I’m going to know where you got them!” yelled the Klingon, waving a tanned hand toward Seven’s general area.

“Yeah, but will they work?” asked Tom, leaning against her side and grinning. B’Elanna curved her lips downward, considering. The right side of her mouth twisted up into a smirk.

“They might,” his girlfriend conceded impishly. Janeway rolled her eyes at the couple’s antics.

“Guys, you are not helping,” mumbled the young Ensign Kim, morosely shaking his head, eyes still trained on his hands.

“No. You’re not!” Chakotay spit, glaring at the pair.

Gathering herself, Janeway opened her mouth to finally put an end to the meeting-that-would-not-die, only to be interrupted by Tuvok, her Vulcan conscience.

“As a Vulcan, I see little value in communicating my internal assessment of others apart from my evaluations of their professional competencies. However, in working and living with humans, I recognize their need to have trust cemented by the public validation of their attributes. I have adapted to deploy such compliments periodically for just that purpose. I, for one, applaud Seven of Nine, as should we all, for the initiative and courage she has shown in adapting her humanity in this manner.”

“Thank you, Commander,” said Seven, tilting her chin up, apparently chuffed by his support. Commander Tuvok inclined his handsome, sable head at the Borg, then shifted his knowing gaze toward his closest friend and Captain. Janeway sighed and nodded in their well-practiced silent communication.

“Well said, Mister Tuvok,” agreed the Captain, a small smile alighting her face as she regarded him. _Leave it to Vulcan wisdom._ She stood abruptly, now ironically craving the tedium of the dark void. “Never a dull moment. Everyone, report to your assignments. Dismissed.”

The staff immediately complied and shuffled out. Janeway, studiously avoiding Seven’s gaze, turned away from the lot of them. She looked through the large view ports of the conference room, doing her best to focus on the stars streaking past, and put aside the tumult of emotions that Seven’s frank compliments had brought about. Just as the door slid shut, she could make out Tom’s incredulous voice once more in the corridor, “Seven, you are _legendary_.”

—

“Janeway to Seven of Nine.”

Seven looked up abruptly from her work at her console, and pressed the silver combadge pinned to her chest. “Yes, Captain?”

Beside her, Bajoran Crewman Tal Celes startled at the Captain’s voice cutting through the previously silent Astrometrics laboratory, and eyed her blonde supervisor intently.

“I’d like to review your proposed course in a bit more detail before approving. Can you bring a more comprehensive analysis to me later?” the Captain asked breezily. Crewman Tal leaned in, eyes sparkling with pleasant diversion.

Seven dipped her head. “Acknowledged. I will report to you directly after the conclusion of my shift at 21:00 hours.”

“Fine. I’ll be in my quarters by then. Janeway out.”

Seven quirked her chin in surprise. _A private evening with the Captain_. Her stomach fluttered and flipped in anticipation. Though her compliments that morning had been exactly what she had planned to say, the Captain’s reaction to them had not been to Seven’s satisfaction. Perhaps she could correct the issue that night when she had the Captain’s singular attention, absent any superfluous input from the Senior Staff.

She looked to the engrossed Bajoran next to her. Tal had asked the ex-Borg earlier to confirm the rumors swirling around the mess at lunch regarding Seven’s effusive praise of the Captain’s attractiveness in the morning meeting. “Even the part about her hands?” she had asked. Seven, unashamed, had confirmed the gossip. Tal responded by calling the blonde ‘unbelievably fearless.’ Now, the raven-haired Bajoran smirked slyly at the Borg.

“Oh, wow. She invited you to her quarters. What are you going to wear, Seven?” she asked leaning in.

Seven raised an eyebrow and looked down at her skintight charcoal biosuit. “My present garment.”

Tal nodded, smiling. “Shows off your figure, and keeps things casual. Good thinking.”

Seven furrowed her brow. She had not _thought_ about it at all. She always wore this utilitarian one-piece or some hue variation thereof; it was only logical she would do the same in the Captain’s quarters that evening. Perhaps this was a flawed approach.

“Should I be altering my appearance or mannerisms in any way?” questioned Seven, suddenly unsure.

“No, of course not! Forget I asked. You’re a total knockout, and everyone knows you’re the Captain’s favorite. You don’t need to change anything. Just be yourself, and say what you want to say to her,” she offered kindly.

Seven fell silent, considering. Crewman Tal, with whom Seven believed she was only mildly acquainted, was providing an unexpected amount of support to Seven and her interest in the Captain. It suddenly struck Seven that Tal believed them to be _friends_. Seven tilted her head. Perhaps they were.

“Very well, I shall,” said Seven, validating the advice. Tal smiled.

“Have fun tonight,” she singsong-ed.

**Night 1**

Janeway’s evening meeting in her quarters with Seven had, despite the Captain’s intentions, turned into a relaxed, sociable dinner rather than a sterile discussion of flight plans. Their dialogue over Seven’s recommended trajectory for Voyager had concluded sooner than anticipated, leaving Janeway bereft as to how to transition toward the other objective of her invitation: Seven’s semi-public declarations to her Captain. In her uncertainty with how to open the topic, Janeway offhandedly offered to replicate a late dinner for the Borg, which Seven had accepted, much to the older woman’s surprise.

“This is a pleasing musical selection, Captain,” offered the blonde after taking a sip of her Nebbiolo well into their dinner.

“Mm,” agreed Janeway, swallowing a spoonful of risotto. “Sibelius. His 44th Opus.”

“Do you not also prefer Stravinksy, Mahler, and Shostakovich?”

“Yes, very much,” she replied, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

“I find I enjoy them as well, particularly Stravinsky.” Seven studied Janeway intently. “It strikes me, Captain, that for a woman of decidedly modern sensibilities, you take a curious interest in antique pastimes.”

Janeway shrugged. “I’m a curious sort. Although, one could say the same of you, Seven.”

The blonde nodded in accordance. “One could. For instance, I have been availing myself of Renaissance polyphony as of late. I find it most agreeable.”

“Have you?” asked the Captain in surprise, putting down her flatware. “Any pieces in particular?”

“Only the more well-known arrangements in the ship’s database, thus far. _Miserere Mei Deus. Salve Regina. Agnus Dei._ I am not religious, but find the layering of voices singing multiple lines of independent melody sans instrumentation to be one of the closer artistic representations of my experience within the Borg Collective.” Seven tilted her head in thought. “Perhaps my interest in polyphony is a way to appreciate the nature of the Collective through use of musical allegory. To admire the hive mind’s elegance from the safe distance of an individual.”

Janeway smiled, impressed by Seven’s keen self-awareness. “Fascinating. Maybe it’s also your way of processing a degree of homesickness.”

Seven raised her brow. “I had not considered that interpretation. Perhaps you are right. Although, I am gratified by my severance, Captain,” she hastened to add.

“I don’t doubt it, Seven.”

“Indeed, assimilation is a terrifying experience at the onset, but the absence of pretense that comes from the complete _binding_ with another,” Seven waxed, eyes staring off in the distance, “There is beauty in it.”

“‘You desire truth in the inward being, and shall teach me wisdom secretly,’” Janeway recited, quoting the English translation of a verse from _Miserere Mei Deus_. “It’s only natural to miss it occasionally,” she said, eyes transfixed on the other woman.

Seven interrupted her solitary trance and steadily met the Captain’s gaze. “‘You renew a right spirit within me,’” she quoted _Miserere_ in turn. She breathed. “Yes.”

Janeway swallowed and broke contact with the searing ice-blue eyes. She cleared her throat and began shuffling their plates to the replicator for disposal.

“Seven,” she began, her back turned, hands busy with recycling. “I have to admit I invited you here to speak with you about something other than the course trajectory.”

“My ‘little outburst’ as Commander Chakotay so named it?” Seven deadpanned.

“Yes,” nodded the Captain, turning to lower herself into the seat next to her Crewman. “But I would never refer to it as that. As Commander Tuvok said, we should all be encouraging your adoption of human behaviors. And Tuvok’s right to call the effort courageous. You are an extremely courageous individual, Seven. I am very proud of your progress and of the life you’ve built for yourself on Voyager. You’ve exceeded my every expectation,” said the Captain earnestly.

“But,” supplied the blonde.

“Well, it’s not a ‘but’ so much as an addendum to the Doctor’s teachings. Compliments are a great way to forge bonds of friendship, but personal thoughts like the ones you expressed are best left to a more private setting,” she explained, conveniently sidestepping to whom those personal thoughts referred.

“I had no intention of causing you discomfort, Captain,” said Seven, drawing the point out anyway.

Janeway waved a hand, dismissing the concern. “I know that, Seven, and I apologize if I gave you the impression that I was uncomfortable. Surprised, more like.”

“I see.” Seven tilted her chin downward. “So you are unaware of the degree to which others find you attractive?”

Janeway grimaced. “I don’t think about it actually.”

“So you _are_ aware, but elect to disregard it?”

“Something like that,” she said rolling her neck. “To be honest, as a Captain, I barely have time to think about my next meal let alone whether my appearance is appealing or not.”

“That is a shame.”

Janeway raised her eyes in surprise at the blonde, who had erstwhile leaned closer to her face.

“Perhaps you need someone to remind you of how beautiful you are,” Seven stated in a soothing alto resonance.

Janeway’s face blushed scarlet, and she looked away from the woman’s piercing cornflower eyes.

“I have made you uncomfortable once again,” Seven said quietly. “I had thought since we were in a private setting—”

“You’re quite right, Seven, it’s just—” the Captain clamped her eyes shut, and opened them back up to the Borg with forced lightness. “I suppose I’m not very good at accepting compliments.”

Janeway stood, the movement alerting Seven to the conclusion of their evening. Seven rose, and stepped far too close to the petite woman. An expression of gentleness, cut with a simmer of heat, colored the blonde’s face.

With a voice like warm honey, she said, “Then perhaps you should _practice_ , Captain.” 

A stillness settled between them. Janeway’s shoulders pulled tightly back; her face blazed hotly. She could not speak. Seven, looking entirely too pleased with herself, nodded, stepped back, and walked over to the exit. She paused in the open doorway, and turned around to face her commanding officer once more.

“This has been a very pleasant evening, Captain,” she announced brightly, hands clasped at the small of her back. “Thank you for both the dinner and thought-provoking conversation.”

Janeway jerked a nod. “Yes, very pleasant.”

Seven turned once more and strode away. “You’re welcome,” Janeway added uselessly to the closed door, certain the dinner had only made her predicament worse. Either she was terribly rusty, or Seven of Nine had just come onto her. Worst of all, she found the prospect rather tempting.

  
  
  
  


###  **II. A Borg in the Helm Is Worth Two on the Bridge**

**Day 2**

“Lieutenant Paris. Have you forgotten our meeting to program Voyager’s updated trajectory through spatial grid 21-300?” asked Seven of Nine striding through the doors of the medical bay, PADD in hand. Tom raised his head from his tinkerings with half a dozen tricorders in various states of disassembly on one of the biobeds. He winced at the perturbed Borg.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Seven, I should’ve comm’ed you. The Doc,” said Tom rolling his eyes in the direction of the Emergency Medical Hologram in his office, “pulled me into last minute sick duty.”

“Pardon me, Lieutenant, but that is a gross misrepresentation of events,” said the Doctor without taking his eyes away from the medical charts on the viewscreen. “ _You_ insisted on trying your hand at installing hardware improvements yesterday on my ‘plastic fossils,’ as you so charmingly call them. It’s not my fault that you lack the engineering skills of your Klingon partner, and your little project backfired rendering all of my tricorders inoperable.”

Tom rolled his eyes a second time. “Doc, I can make the upgrades work. Just give me a few days to tweak them.”

“I do not _have_ a few days for your tweaking. Annual crew physicals begin tomorrow.”

“So do them next week!” complained Tom.

The CMO finally looked away from his work to heed the frustrated helmsman. “That would ruin the consistency of my data,” he explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. “It’s an _annual_ physical, Lieutenant, not an annual-plus-one-week physical.”

Tom glared at the hologram and slapped his tools down on the biobed with more force than necessary. “Look, I’ll stay after my shift tonight to fix your precious equipment if I have to. Let Seven and I input the new course. You know, the one we need for the spatial grid we’re about to ram through filled with systems the Federation has never even heard of? It’s kind of important.”

The Doctor pursed his lips into a frown. “Fine. But you will repair my tricorders before my first appointments tomorrow, even if you have to stay all night.”

“Our meeting will hardly take significant time away from Lieutenant Paris’s medical shift,” offered Seven.

“I appreciate the consideration, Seven, but I’m afraid it’s the principle of the matter. I will not alter my departmental schedule simply to accommodate his convenience,” huffed the CMO.

“Don’t encourage him,” murmured Tom.

“I heard that,” retorted the EMH melodically.

Tom, ignoring the Doctor, lead Seven over to a computer terminal along the wall of the bay. “Let’s pull up my systems here. I’ll just transfer the new data to the helm console later.”

The blonde pair spent the next 25 minutes converting Seven’s astrometric projections into Paris’s piloting system. Prior to Seven’s arrival on Voyager, Tom had typically mapped and adjusted the ship’s course in near-real time as Harry Kim or another Ensign at the Operations station tracked systems only a few thousand clicks ahead of their current location. Seven’s innovations to the Astrometrics computer structure had allowed herself and Tom to integrate a more detailed flight plan days ahead of Voyager reaching a new grid. With that much foresight, the Chief Helmsman was able to simultaneously pre-program custom flight maneuvers and command codes that auto-initiated along each unique coordinate during their route. This removed the uncertainty of real time adjustments, giving the pilot ample opportunity to focus on other tasks at the helm beyond simple course correction. In short, Seven made Tom’s job far easier.

Seven likewise found that she enjoyed her collaboration with the innately exuberant pilot. In the early days of their professional partnership, Seven had been leery of the motivation behind Tom’s effusive praise of her abilities, seeming affinity for her person, and deployment of spare remarks like “Looking good this morning, Sev!” It had occurred to the ex-Borg that perhaps the helmsman’s consistent attentions meant he had intentions to copulate with her. She had asked him as much in her typical direct manner. Paris had laughed in response.

“Gosh, Seven, I’m flattered, but I’m a kept man. I just like hanging with you. And besides, B’Elanna would use a bat’leth to rip me a new asshole if I even thought about it.” He smirked at her then. “But I know a guy in Ops who is dying to take you out.”

Seven had no interest in learning the identity of this man. “I am only sexually attracted to women,” she had stated bluntly. _Well, one woman so far_. Tom had appeared overjoyed by this information.

“Same here, Sev, hard same,” he grinned widely, clapping his hands. “Happy to talk about the ladies with you anytime. You’re a dreamboat, so you don’t really need my help, but! I’ll definitely be your wingman whenever you want,” he offered. Seven had no concept of what a ‘wingman’ was, and had yet to take him up on the proposal. Nonetheless, the two of them had been mutually amicable ever since the interchange, with Seven noting she spoke with the helmsman more than any other member of the crew, save the Captain. While Seven was often unsure of the status with which others regarded her, and spent little energy contemplating it, she was certain Lieutenant Tom Paris was her friend.

“Man, Borg Yoke is incredible,” said Tom, drawing her thoughts back to their present task. ‘Borg Yoke’ was the affectionate term he used to describe this pre-coding technique that the pair engaged in before every new grid entry. The Yoke, he had explained to Seven, was the analogue mechanism that ancient Earth pilots used to steer aircraft. Seven later understood that comparing her advanced navigational coding system to the antiquated technology of a control wheel had translated to high praise from Tom Paris.

“I am pleased my efforts have reduced your workload,” said Seven. She read off the final coordinates, and lowered the PADD to her side. Tom jigged from side to side, and entered the last command sequence for grid 21-300’s Borg Yoke. Releasing an exaggerated breath, he leaned his forearm against the wall above the terminal, as if he had just completed a laborious physical task.

“No question you have,” he agreed. He wrinkled his forehead, searching the young woman. “And what about you, Seven? What would lighten your load?”

Seven stared at him blankly.

“You know, what could we do for you to make your life easier on Voyager?” clarified Tom. “Better biosuits? More holodeck time? A cocktail?” He laughed.

Seven raised an eyebrow. “I am satisfied with my attire and leisure allotment.”

“Ah, come on! You’ve done a lot for this crusty old crew. Humor me. Isn’t there anything you want?”

Seven paused. What _did_ she want? It was true that, all things considered, she was generally content with her life. She had adequate clothing, sustenance, and security. While she did occasionally feel frustrated by and separated from the rest of the crew due to her difficulty of integrating with other individuals, that difficulty did not overshadow her overall contentment. She had independence to pursue her interests in mathematics, xenobiology, navigation, physics, and even music outside of her Astrometrics work. Further, those assigned duties gave her a sense of purpose within the Voyager Collective. And she did recognize that purpose within the ship for the gift that it was, a gift bestowed upon her by the vessel’s kind and charismatic Captain.

Ruminating on Janeway in the context of Seven’s present line of thinking — her life, and what she wanted therein — made her stomach churn and grow hot. _The Captain_. Yes, of course the Captain was what she truly wanted; Seven was well aware of that personal desire, as alarming as it was to contend with when she initially recognized it. It had come to her gradually in her year aboard the Federation starship, expanding in depth and width inside of herself with each moment she spent in Kathryn Janeway’s magnetic orbit, until a particular feeling saturated her insides, woman and Borg alike.

A month ago, the blonde had finally recognized, with sharp awareness, the saturating feeling for the _want_ that it was. Deep into their slog through a lifeless chasm the crew referred to as the Void, Seven, anxious to see the self-sequestered Janeway, had entered the Captain’s Ready Room off the Bridge without permission, as was typical of the self-possessed Borg. Instead of finding her diminutive leader behind her desk hard at work, Seven discovered Janeway stretched supine on her couch, petite body breathing deeply in sleep and face open for the ex-Borg’s surveillance in the darkened space. The auburn Captain’s normally commanding demeanor was gone in her slumber, replaced by the delicate, yet striking prettiness of an attractive woman. She always knew the Captain was un-prejudicially appealing, but that moment saw Seven temporarily stunned by Kathryn’s loveliness. She tilted her head in examination of the fine geometric concavity of Janeway’s neck, mentally calculating the coefficient she would need to render a curve of best fit along the Captain’s oft-strained trapezius. She had enumerated the regression equation down to the error term when Seven realized with a start that she desperately wanted to mold her mouth to the place. She desired to _kiss_ her Captain there, and, further still, had wanted to do significantly more for quite some time.

That overwhelming desire had motivated her to ask the Doctor about forging intimate bonds with humans in the first place (and what led to her Tom-Paris-coined ‘legendary performance’ in yesterday’s Senior Staff meeting.) Her dinner with the Captain the evening prior only further solidified her desire to know, to feel, to please the auburn haired woman. Her compliments of the Captain’s beauty last night had more acutely engendered the bewitching reaction she had initially wanted. Janeway had been so close to her, and had flushed so prettily. Oh yes, Seven wanted to _exist_ with Kathryn Janeway.

To earn that goal, however, Seven knew she would have to do more than deliver well-placed compliments. She had to express her regard through actions and time spent. But how could she spend personal time with the Captain in a way that would encourage such intimate bonding? She could not very well do so in the cold, industrial setting of her assigned Cargo Bay where she regenerated her subdermal circuitry. Moreover, the Holodeck was a place the Captain associated with Velocity or crew events at Sandrine’s — light, friendly endeavors. No, to properly establish intimacy, physical or otherwise, Seven would need her own comfortable dwelling in which to pull the Captain’s pleasing countenance into her confidence. She tilted her chin up and looked at the blonde pilot, now prepared with an answer to his inquiry.

“Perhaps I would enjoy having private quarters. A domicile aside from Cargo Bay 2 in which to bide before and after my duty shifts.”

“You want your own place! That’s a great idea,” Tom said, tapping a rhythm into the bulkhead with his thumb and index finger. “That should be easy enough. I know we’re a little cramped for space around here, but I’m sure the Captain would figure something out if you asked her.”

Seven scrunched her brow. “The space restrictions of the ship had not occurred to me. It also seems a menial request to make of Captain Janeway. She has far more important matters with which to occupy her attention.”

From his office, the Doctor sighed dramatically. Apparently, he had been eavesdropping. “Please. Has Captain Janeway ever denied you _anything_?”

Seven lowered her head in the sassy EMH’s direction. “Yes. Frequently.”

The hologram rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean regarding ship matters like how best to circumvent spatial anomalies. Since recovering from your severance from the Borg Collective, has she ever denied you a _personal_ request?”

“He’s got a point, Sev,” Tom smiled, crossing his arms and shifting to lean against the bulkhead with his shoulder.

Her eyes drifted downward, taking a moment to recall every request or favor she had ever asked of Kathryn Janeway. “No,” she conceded quietly, “She has not.” This was a useful realization.

Tom grinned, and waggled his eyebrows. “See there? Anyway, you could just sandwich the asking with some of those fancy compliments you’re so good at dishing out now, you Casanova.”

Seven’s cortical implant lifted. She was not familiar with the Casanova moniker, but could glean the general context.

“Seriously though,” Tom said, lowering his voice, “Those lines are gold. I mean, I can’t believe the woman’s clothes were still on by the end. You could clean house with—”

“I take it from your idle chatter, Mister Paris, that your meeting with Miss of Nine has concluded, and you’re ready to resume your work on my defective medical equipment?” asked the Doctor leaning sideways around his view screen to regard the pair.

Tom groaned. “For a guy with supposedly no command programming, you sure like to crack the whip,” he grumbled, pushing off the bulkhead with his shoulder and walking back to his bed of disassembled tricorders. Seven twisted on her heel to leave.

“Hey, Sev,” called Tom just before she walked through the sickbay doors. She half-turned toward his voice. “Janeway’s a sucker for a home-cooked meal,” he said, smiling down at his task.

She raised an eyebrow in mild surprise at his perceptiveness. “Noted.”

  
  
  
  


###  **III. A Friend in Need Is a Borg Indeed**

**Day 6**

“Seven of Nine.”

Seven swiveled about face in the corridor to regard the Vulcan Security Chief.

“Yes, Commander Tuvok,” she greeted genially with a nod of her chin, hands clasped behind her back.

“Captain Janeway has approved your request for private quarters. You will find details for their code entry, security, and maintenance here,” the dark Vulcan said, holding out a PADD. “They are located on Deck 5 adjacent to Ensign Samantha Wildman’s quarters. The Captain believed the proximity to Naomi Wildman would be satisfactory to you. I have assigned two of my Ensigns to install your backup regeneration alcove in the bedroom section. The work order should be completed by 09:00 hours tomorrow.”

Seven tilted her head and accepted the tablet. “But Commander, I made no such request to the Captain.”

Tuvok nodded. “Correct. Lieutenant Paris submitted the appeal to the Captain on your behalf. She obliged.”

Seven pursed her lips. “I did not ask the Lieutenant to solicit the Captain in this matter.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mister Paris often pursues his own interests without asking for approval beforehand. I believe he says it is ‘better to ask for forgiveness than ask permission.’ A flawed premise, but suffice it to say, I find that his overture to the Captain in your service is unsurprising.”

She huffed a breath through her nose. As irritating as it was for Lieutenant Paris to evade her knowledge, she had to admit she was pleased to have her own space. Perhaps she would thank him eventually. At the very least, she had now obtained a sufficient environment with which to pursue the Captain. Further, she was stirred by the Commander’s expeditious efforts in accommodating her needs. She deeply respected the stoic Vulcan.

“Thank you, Commander Tuvok, for you and your Security team’s work in the preparations. I am grateful.”

“Certainly. You are a valued member of this crew, Seven of Nine. Enjoy your new dwelling.”

  
  
  
  


###  **IV. The Borg Is in Your Court**

**Day 10**

“I must say I didn’t expect an invitation so soon,” Captain Janeway said, shedding her red-striped uniform jacket and laying it on the chair next to the door of Seven’s quarters. She extended gray undershirt-covered arms high above her head, cracking away her stiffness with the motion.

“Is it not customary?” asked Seven, laying chargers on her dining table, gaze idling over the lithe body of the stretching Janeway.

“Customary?” questioned the Captain, as she took in her surroundings, rubbing at the sensitive skin of her neck underneath her gleaming pips. The room was fairly spartan, which Janeway had anticipated given its occupant and the short amount of time the Borg had gotten to acclimate to it. Thus far, the only adornments were several vases of flora grown from the ship’s hydroponics bay, including a beautiful blue orchid arrangement on the dining table, and an oversized star chart of the Delta Quadrant above the couch. The lights were dimmed in congruence with the evening hour, and Mahler was playing softly from the computer system.

“Yes,” said Seven. “You prepared dinner for me in your quarters first. It is customary that I return the gesture by inviting you to my own. I understand this to be common courting behavior.”

Janeway grimaced. “Seven, I am flattered, but I think we should clarify a few things.”

“Captain,” said Seven calmly raising a hand in polite interruption. “I am aware that you wish to have a particular conversation with me, but could we delay it until after our dinner?”

Janeway sighed and nodded. “Fine, I suppose that’s only fair since you went through—” Janeway paused, eyeing the dishes of food Seven was laying atop her chargers. “Seven, did you cook for me?”

Seven regarded her gastronomic handiwork: penne all'arrabbiata, grilled chicken Caesar salad, and a selection of Vermentino. “Of course. I know that you vastly prefer handmade versus replicated dining.”

The Captain gripped her hands on her hips and looked down at her feet, hair curtaining around her face. “That is very kind,” she said tacitly.

“It was my pleasure,” Seven said simply, and meant it.

Over dinner, Janeway tried to limit herself to one glass of the Vermentino, but she found it, and the company, to be so delightful that she imbibed about two and a half when all was said and done. She felt agreeably warm and languid, so that when Seven stood and began clearing the table, Janeway found her gaze loitering on the blonde’s more appealing features on display in the tight blue biosuit before internally cursing herself and looking away. She had to fix this. _Now_.

“Seven,” started Janeway as she stood and walked around the table towards her crewmember. The Borg ordered the replicator to recycle their dishes, and turned to face the small Captain. Seven resumed her typical parade rest posture, ready to engage in the conversation she had postponed. Janeway took a deep breath, and looked up at the platinum blonde, eyes filling with compassion.

“Seven, I have enjoyed our evening,” she held up a hand in correction, “Evenings. But, this is going to have to be our last. You must understand that I can’t see you in the way you’d like. I do apologize,” she finished.

Seven raised her chin, eyes scanning the bulkhead above the Captain’s head as if working through some complex equation. After a beat, the blonde beauty drew a quick breath through her nose and abruptly shifted her attention back to the Captain, having arrived at a solution to the arithmetic.

“No.”

“No?” the Captain reeled, her calm composure breaking.

“Yes,” said the Borg. “That is to say, no,” she clarified.

“No,” repeated the Captain flatly.

“No, Captain,” nodded the ex-Borg. “We will not stop seeing one another.”

“Seven,” Janeway scoffed, drawing her hands up at a loss. “This isn’t a negotiation. I don’t know how much the Doctor has told you about relationships, or potential relationships in this case, but if one party wants it to end, I’m afraid it must.”

“Yes, Captain, I am clear on the customs surrounding the termination of relationships. However, I think one’s refusal to even embark upon one should be based in sound reasoning, and yours, Captain, is deeply flawed. I do not respect your rationale and, therefore, do not accept it.”

Janeway scoffed again, glancing down at her feet. “I don’t believe this,” she mumbled under her breath. “Explain yourself, please,” she requested looking up at the ex-Borg.

“Gladly.” Seven began to pace back and forth in front of the other woman as she spoke, energized by the prospect of debate with Janeway. “As I understand it, relationships require common interests, trust, and attraction to be successful, among other elements. I believe we possess all three ‘in spades,’ to borrow an idiom from Lieutenant Paris, making an attachment between us highly reasonable. First, you and I share several common interests: navigation, physics, biology, exploration, and music, to name a few. We can and have conversed for hours about, and enjoy challenging one another’s opinions concerning, said topics. Further, we both share an insatiable curiosity. I do not believe we would ever bore one another.”

Janeway huffed a laugh. Seven took this as a vote of agreement, and continued.

“Second, trust. A relationship cannot survive without the existence of unwavering confidence in one another’s decision-making and character. Trust is essential.” Seven ceased her stride directly in front of Janeway and focused her intense gaze on the smaller woman. “And Captain,” she pressed, “I trust you implicitly.”

For a moment, the women held eye contact, and breathed together. Seven stepped back and resumed her march. Janeway sucked in a gasp.

“Though I may intermittently disagree with you about your decisions or how to proceed in a given situation, I have never doubted your competency as Captain or integrity as a friend. I recognize that I am a highly opinionated crewmember, and perhaps make your job more difficult in that regard. I hope, however, that you know I would not cede my autonomy to anyone less worthy than you,” she said earnestly, eyes meeting the Captain once again.

Janeway swallowed, and felt her cheeks flush with warmth.

“Of course, this does not guarantee that you share in my trust, but I believe that you do,” continued Seven. “You severed me from the only life I could fathom with the Borg. It is true that at the time, this angered me immensely. It was difficult to possess a silent, solitary conscience after hearing the voices of billions simultaneously for the majority of my life. It was unbearable, point of fact. However, you trusted in me in a way I could not trust in myself. You believed I could recapture my humanity and survive as an individual. You trusted me with a purpose in a new Collective on Voyager, in service with and of other individuals. I see now that my existence of assimilation was one of unceasing subjugation, akin to drowning in perpetuity, but you pulled me out of those metaphorical depths. It is a gift I can never repay,” said Seven shaking her head.

“Seven, you owe me nothing. Please, don't ever think...” Janeway rasped, voice wavering and eyes wet. She took a deep breath. “What you’re saying may all be true, but there are a lot of reasons this can’t happen. I am your commanding officer, and, like it or not, my organization has severe restrictions about what I am allowed to do with my crewmembers. I have to maintain a distance, and what you’re suggesting would certainly violate it.”

Seven nodded. “I anticipated this objection from you.”

Janeway smirked at the familiarity. “Naturally.”

“To state the obvious, while you are a member of Starfleet, I am not. Their restrictions do not apply to me. Nevertheless, I grant that you are my superior on Voyager. I, however, am Borg and am certain I would have no issues continuing to serve under you regardless of the progression of our relationship. I can also deduce that you fear your command being compromised by feelings that arise from a relationship. I reiterate my unwavering faith in your competence as Captain.” Seven raised an eyebrow at Janeway. “And I certainly do not doubt _your_ level of self-confidence.”

The Captain smirked. “It takes one to know one,” she goaded the likewise self-confident former Borg. Seven tilted her chin in acquiescence and continued.

“Finally, as you have stated in other instances, the Federation is tens of thousands of lightyears away from our current location. Certain allowances have to be made given Voyager’s unique circumstances.”

Janeway nodded. “Yes, I suppose I have acted with that caveat in mind on many occasions, but I also have to think about my crew. To be frank, I’m not sure how they would react to this,” she said gesturing between herself and the tall blonde.

“Because I am Borg?” queried Seven.

“God, you’re more human than most humans I know. No! It’s because I’m the Captain! Because _they_ know very well what regulations I’m supposed to uphold, and they’d know any personal attachments of mine might detract from our primary mission — to get them home and out of this Quadrant! A problem that, if you recall, is my fault in the first place.”

Seven ignored the guilt-laden self-deprecation, and examined this apprehension of the Captain, one she herself had not considered. The crew’s reaction to any potential relationship of theirs had been so far outside of Seven’s realm of concern that it had not even crossed the ex-Borg’s mind.

“Very well. Our attachment will remain private,” she said with a hint of a shrug.

Janeway barked a disbelieving laugh. “That wouldn’t bother you?”

Seven furrowed her brow at the ludicrous question. “I am not presently, nor anticipate ever being, concerned with the opinions of others regarding my personal affections. I desire a relationship with you, not the _approval_ of a relationship with you. Whether a third party is aware of our attachment is wholly irrelevant to me. I am confident in our connection, and that is sufficient for my satisfaction.”

Janeway shook her head, and smiled adoringly up at the younger woman. “If only we could all be so blessed with your sensibilities, Seven.”

“So we are in agreement?” she asked excitedly, eager to alleviate the other woman’s misgivings.

The Captain moved a hand to her hip, and pressed the other in a halting gesture. “Hold on a second. I’m assuming this would be your first relationship, yes?”

“Correct.”

“Well, wouldn’t you rather explore dating with others closer to your own age, or with someone who’s not tasked with a Captaincy? I mean, how do you know you wouldn’t be more attracted to men, for example?”

Seven looked away, again perplexed at the oddity of Janeway’s concerns. “No, you are not that much older than me. No, I would not like to explore relationships with others whom I already know to be inferior to my tastes. Yes, I am certain that I am not more attracted to men.”

“Fine, but,” Janeway said sheepishly. “I must confess _I’ve_ never been with a woman.”

“Nor have I,” Seven interjected.

The Captain tilted her head. “Point made.” She flicked a hand. “Okay, okay. A moment ago, you described the, um, appreciation you feel towards my actions in severing you from the Collective, in providing you with a home and purpose on Voyager. Could you just consider the possibility that all of these feelings you say you have for me are simply... profound gratitude?”

Seven’s cortical implant inched toward her hairline. “You believe me to be conflating my regard for you with simple gratitude?”

“You must admit that it’s possible!” Janeway argued, throwing her hands up.

Once again, Seven appeared to be fighting against a smirk. “What?” the Captain prompted drolly, missing the joke.

Seven took a step closer to the auburn woman. “You did not let me finish my earlier enumeration of why a relationship between us will be successful.”

“Didn’t I?” she breathed.

“No.”

“So we’re back to that word,” murmured Janeway.

Now there was no question that Seven was smirking. “Allow me to finish now. Finally, a relationship must have attraction.”

“This is _not_ how I thought this night would go,” mumbled the Captain.

“If you recall from our Senior Staff Meeting nine days ago, I stated that I find your beauty to be undeniable. Your hands…” Seven’s eyes drifted down to Janeway’s fingers as she drew her bottom lip in her mouth to lick. “Enticing. And your eyes, very fine,” she said, stepping even closer.

“How could I forget?” husked the Captain. A part of her frenzied mind noted Shostakovich’s Gadfly Suite, Opus No. 27, VIII swelling above them. Her ears rang with it.

“I _am_ grateful to you, Captain,” said Seven lowly. She reached a hand up to stroke lightly the side of the petite woman’s face with her fingertips. Her thumb brushed from the corner of Janeway’s parted lips to settle along her proud cheekbone; her palm and fingers curled securely around Janeway’s comely head, threading through locks of splendid copper hair.

“But what I did not say in front of the others, is that I _want_ you, Kathryn.” Seven lowered her forehead to nuzzle against Janeway’s, lips inches away from their target. “I want to make you flush pink all over at my words, as you did before.”

Janeway’s heart pounded as though she had run for hours, breath coming out in shallow gasps. _Fuck_. She felt Seven’s metal-laced hand grip her waist, and move slowly upwards to brush under a clothed breast. Janeway bit her own lip. As if on autopilot, the Captain saw her own slender hands rise to clasp Seven’s upper arms just under the rounded shoulders. 

Seven stroked her thumb once more, down and up against Janeway’s cheek. “ _Please_ , Katie,” she breathed, voice needy with the most important personal request she had ever made of her Captain.

Kathryn shuddered and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered just before Seven closed the distance and molded their lips together. _Granted_.

  
  
  
  


###  **V. Curiosity Killed the Klingon**

**Day 32**

Chief Engineer B’Elanna Torres wiped a bit of sweat from her ridged forehead and stilled her white-hot solder iron over a nest of wiring to muzzle a yawn with a fist. Sleep had evaded her from about 02:00 onward this morning. Just before 05:00 hours, she’d given up on slumber and slung away the sheets from her side of the bed. The half-Klingon female cracked her toes against the carpeting and began pulling on her gold-banded uniform, to which her naked boyfriend had grunted his half-awake disapproval before rolling back into sleep. Once dressed and ready, she crouched on the mattress and lightly poked him in the back. He jolted away from her sharp fingernail.

“I’m getting an early start on the repair job in Jefferies 12,” she whispered.

“Mmm, just come back to bed, Sweetheart,” Tom Paris slurred into the pillow, eyes shut. “I’ll sing you a lullaby.” His sleep-weakened hand moved over her forearm in an uncoordinated flop. B’Elanna gathered that this was his attempt to hold her in place.

She laughed quietly. “Maybe next time, flyboy.” She brushed her nails through his hair and leaned down to kiss his temple. She left before he could protest further.

By 06:00 she had made significant progress on the fried-out power relays that had been plaguing one of the members of her junior staff in tube 12 next to the main turbo lift. While the project was not particularly urgent, her Klingon patience had worn out with the delays, and so she supposed the ass-crack of dawn before most of the ship was awake was as good a time as any to nip the problem in the bud. Lack of patience aside, the engineer found that performing Voyager’s mechanical repairs in the subdued silence of the normally bustling ship relaxed her. In fact, she deemed menial, tactile tasks such as this one particularly calming, as they required small, sharp focus and the precision of her nimble fingers to provide the sensual satisfaction of a fix. Only the dignified hum of Voyager’s handsome engines could cut through her thoughts so early in the day. _Bliss_.

This morning, however, a muffled voice disrupted B’Elanna’s cone of silence.

“No, but it’s been nagging at me,” rasped the Captain in response to an unheard inquiry, voice still low and hoarse with recent sleep.

B’Elanna put down her soldering instrument as quietly as possible, and peered through the horizontal venting slats of the tube down to the corridor below. Janeway was just rounding the corner, with Seven of Nine in lock step. Their shoulders brushed against one another in their stride. 

“We should set up a shift rotation for a few Ensigns to monitor how the gel packs react to simulated, oscillating radiation. I don’t want to be on the back foot when we run into those pulsars in sector 362.” Janeway paused, thinking. “Maybe I’ll ask Chakotay to work with you on that.”

Seven made a sound of exasperation in the back of her throat. Janeway stopped, and turned to face her companion, eyebrows raised and a smirk forming on her mouth. Seven halted and inclined her head in the shorter woman’s direction.

“Now, now. I’m starting to think you’re not a fan of the Commander,” she admonished the Borg huskily, though her sleep-heavy eyes sparkled with mirth. Janeway’s playfulness tipped B’Elanna off that this was a well-worn topic between the women.

“I think you will find, Captain, that it is Commander Chakotay who initially harbored a disliking of _me_ ,” corrected Seven. She tilted her head and looked away. “I will admit, however, that the feeling is mutual.”

Janeway shook her head and looked skyward, causing B’Elanna’s breath to catch in her throat. _Kahless, don’t see me, please don’t see me._ The Engineering Chief knew she was intruding on a very private interaction, and that her revealed presence would ruin the cocoon of comfort the Captain and Seven shared in this early hour before the Alpha shift. Their rapport seemed a precious and fragile thing, and Torres felt a wave of protectiveness for the dearness between the two women.

Luckily, Janeway’s gaze missed B’Elanna hovering above. She returned her eyes to Seven. “Do I even want to know why?” the petite Captain asked.

“Likely not. Suffice it to say, _you_ are the overwhelming factor in our shared discontent. And if you recall, he attempted to expel me from an airlock to suffocate in the vacuum of space when I first came aboard Voyager.”

“Yes, I certainly recall hearing about that,” husked Janeway, rolling a shoulder. B’Elanna remembered that little maneuver, too. Chakotay had attempted the Borg-icide when Janeway was conveniently unconscious, fighting against a coma in sick bay. The Captain had been none too pleased with her Native American First Officer when she had risen, but Kathryn Janeway was nothing if not forgiving. Torres envied her that. “Just try your best to work with him on this? Consider it a personal favor.”

“I am the consummate professional, Captain,” assured the blonde. Janeway closed her eyes and smiled.

“No doubt,” she agreed, affectionately squeezing the Borg’s right elbow before walking to stand in front of the turbo lift. Seven cast a lingering gaze along the backside of the diminutive Captain, and, after a beat, stepped over to join her by the doors. Seven pushed the keys on the command pad to call the lift and turned her head toward Janeway. Then, she did something that would have knocked B’Elanna flat off her feet if she’d been standing, rather than perched crisscross in a Jefferies tube.

Seven lifted her right hand and placed it around Janeway’s waist. Then, drawing the hand down the Captain’s right flank, she said quietly, “And you know quite well I can never deny you anything, Katie.”

Janeway sighed and tilted her auburn head to rest against Seven’s shoulder. In response, Seven slid her hand over the Captain’s rear, rubbing casually. From her angle in the tube, B’Elanna could not see either woman’s face, but she knew with certainty they wore twin expressions of serenity.

A few seconds later, the sweet spell the pair cast over B’Elanna in the quiet morning was broken by the chiming of the lift announcing its arrival. Janeway stepped away from Seven and into the compartment. The petite woman turned adorned with a small smile.

“Have a pleasant day, Captain,” said the Astrometrics officer, body shifting to assume her naturally severe stance.

“You too, Honey. Bridge,” Janeway ordered just as the doors shut. Seven paused for a moment to look at the space her companion had just occupied, then turned on her heel and glided out of sight.

B’Elanna forcefully exhaled air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Well, fuck _me_ ,” the engineer breathed. She had just witnessed Seven of Nine walk her girlfriend to work.

—

It was merely coincidental that later that same day, B’Elanna hosted Janeway in the Engineering Chief’s office for a quarterly departmental review. Torres narrowed her eyes in inspection of the small Captain who sat across B’Elanna’s desk engrossed in a PADD detailing impulse engine upgrades, dilithium inventory, and the like. B’Elanna did not expect to catalogue any physical differences in Kathryn Janeway, given what the Klingon now knew of her attachment to a fellow crewmember, but the engineer looked for the evidence nonetheless. _Is she smiling more than usual? Is the tension in her shoulders less obvious? She seems to be growing out her hair. Is that significant?_

“Have I got something on my face, Lieutenant?” asked the Captain, who had noticed the other woman’s perusal without even looking up from her reading. _How the hell does she do that?_

“No, ma’am,” said B’Elanna, clearing her throat. “It’s just, um, I was wondering how you were doing?”

Janeway looked up in disbelief. “How am I doing?”

“Yeah. Anything… new with you? Any changes?” She paused. “Updates?”

Janeway studied the engineer for a long moment, then placed the tablet on the desk in front of her. “Okay, there’s obviously something on your mind. Out with it.”

B’Elanna scoffed unconvincingly, and raised her hands in a shrug. “Can’t I just ask how you are without there being an ulterior motive?”

Janeway raised an eyebrow and rubbed the fingertips of a hand along her defined jaw, waiting.

B’Elanna dropped her arms in defeat. _Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound._

“I know about you and Seven.”

Janeway blinked. “And what do you think you know, exactly?”

“That I guess those compliments really worked,” B’Elanna edged suggestively.

Janeway swallowed. “Lieutenant, I’m not sure how you drew this conclusion, but you are far off the mark. To even imply—”

“I think it’s great!” interjected the Klingon, though Janeway plowed on as if she had not heard her.

“That I would… engage with a crewmember in that way. Well, it’s absurd, Lieutenant. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Captain,” blurted B’Elanna, effectively cutting off the other woman. Torres lowered her head and looked through her brows toward her superior officer. “She slid her hand over your ass this morning outside the turbo lift.” A Klingon is never shy.

Janeway choked out a strangled breath. Her eyes shifted upward, searching for a plausible excuse for an ass grab in the seam of the bulkhead above. Finding no answers, she deflated, dropped her auburn head, and scrubbed a hand over her mouth.

“You saw that,” she said, muffled through her fingers, awash in misery. 

A miniscule part of Torres (one she was not proud of, by the way) felt a touch of schadenfreude at the Captain’s discomfort. Janeway had, after all, dressed down Torres and Paris for ‘adolescent behavior’ at the start of their own sexual relationship, which had miffed the Klingon no matter how warranted the scolding might have been. The overwhelming part of B’Elanna, however, felt immense empathy for her overworked and overstressed superior, and was driven to assuage any feelings of guilt or mortification the other woman felt. Janeway had, more significantly, accepted B’Elanna’s volatile temper, impatience, and lack of leadership experience with grace when she had promoted her to Chief Engineer over four years ago, having only known the Starfleet Academy dropout a few scarce weeks. From that moment on, and despite her initial intentions, B’Elanna had been terribly fond of the diminutive Captain. She extended a hand across the desk toward Janeway.

“Please don’t beat yourself up. Like I said, Captain, I think it’s great! Kahless, you deserve a little happiness in this walking emergency of a Quadrant.”

Janeway shut her eyes and groaned.

“I’m serious!” assured the engineer. “I mean, sure, she’s pretty stiff and can be a real pain in my ass, but she is…” B’Elanna trailed off and shook her head in wonderment, “Very, _very_ enamored of you. Not to mention physically flawless. And even though I don’t get it, Tom keeps insisting she’s hilarious.”

Janeway looked up at her, and after a moment, crinkled her eyes in mirth. B’Elanna grinned and laughed, feeling the contagious effects of the Captain’s smile.

“Christ, you’re so hard on yourself. Really, it’s fine,” said Torres warmly. The Captain bit her lip demurely, and B’Elanna’s heart buoyed in her chest at the small act of vulnerability. It suddenly hit the engineer that Kathryn Janeway was quite _adorable_ without the protective shell of her Captaincy. It was no wonder Seven fell so hard for the woman.

Janeway gripped her handrests and sighed, shaking her head. “I have to be more careful.”

B’Elanna shrugged. “To my knowledge, no one else has noticed. I only saw something by pure dumb luck.”

Janeway ran a hand through her collarbone-length hair. “Even so.”

B’Elanna twisted her mouth to one side, considering. Ultimately, her curiosity got the better of her social protocol. “I have to know. How did this affair happen?”

“B’Elanna!” exclaimed Janeway, scandalized.

The pretty Klingon raised both hands in deference. “I just mean, Captain, that I’m slightly surprised. Only, you’re so rigid about the command structure,” she clarified, again remembering Janeway calling Tommy and herself to the carpet.

The Captain cocked her chin in agreement. “Yes,” she nodded. “Well,” the Captain paused and tilted her head from side to side searching for the right words. Then, breathily, “She sort of… wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oooh,” said B’Elanna, voice dropping deeply. The engineer relaxed back into her chair and crossed her legs, looking away toward her glorious, glowing warp core. “Oooh,” she repeated, and nodded dazily. “A woman who takes what she wants. I see the appeal.”

“Indeed,” whispered Janeway, herself wearing a faraway expression, eyes glassy. She inhaled sharply and broke her own reverie.

“B’Elanna,” she said in her Bridge tone. The Klingon snapped her diverted attention back to Captain Janeway, who was erect and certain again on her feet, fists at her hips. “You may speak of this to no one,” she warned.

“Especially Tom,” stated Torres looking up at the petite woman.

“ _Especially_ Tom,” echoed the Captain.

“Loud and clear, Captain,” she said as Janeway exited the room.

**Day 39**

A week later, Seven discovered a minor misalignment of the warp coils resulting in a 0.000173% efficiency reduction in ship thrust. Janeway assigned the stringent Astrometrics Head to Engineering for the day to monitor the coil cleaning and realignment process being conducted by Ensigns Ashmore and Vorik. As she so often was, the half-human, half-Klingon Chief Engineer had been of two minds about the project. On one side, she was annoyed that the exacting Borg had asserted herself once again into Torres’s departmental business. On the other, B’Elanna herself loathed the idea that even an iota of error could exist in her dapper engines, and was glad to have the ex-Borg’s discerning eye overseeing the restoration. All the better that Ensign Vorik (whom, by the by, B’Elanna knew to be a little shit) detested taking orders from Seven of Nine.

B’Elanna, toeing down the last few rungs of the service ladder adjacent to the warp core, noticed Seven standing alone by an operations console, keying in sequential commands for the busy Ensigns across the room to carry out. Recalling the embarrassment Seven’s blunt questions about B’Elanna’s own sex life once elicited, the Klingon spitfire decided she couldn’t resist the opportunity to indulge her annoyed side and needle the austere ex-Borg.

“So Seven, how have you been? Anything _new_ going on in your life?” she whispered, sidling up to the blonde.

Seven’s hands paused above the console for a beat before resuming their work. “I am aware of your knowledge of the sexual relationship between Captain Janeway and myself.”

Torres smirked, and crossed her arms. “Yeah, I figured you were.” She leaned her hip against the edge of the conn.

“Then what is the reason for your subterfuge?” she asked, flicking her eyes in the Klingon’s direction.

B’Elanna shrugged one shoulder elegantly. “Oh, it amuses me, that’s all.”

Seven’s cortical implant quirked upwards. “Have you come to ridicule me?”

“No, no,” she smiled haughtily. “I’m not _that_ bitchy. Like I told your girl, I’m happy for you. I know — well, I think most of the crew knows by now — that you’re really into her, to say the least. And I can’t knock your taste. Kathryn Janeway is a helluva woman.”

A Mona Lisa smile slowly graced Seven’s fine face. “Yes. She is quite extraordinary.”

Despite herself, B’Elanna’s heart melted at the sweet sentiment and gentle expression adorning the Borg. She could not recollect ever seeing the woman smile. Torres frowned at the tenderness. “Ah, Seven. I can’t even tease you about that. Kahless, the _sincerity_.”

Seven’s brow furrowed. “Of course my regard for Kathryn is sincere. I find her kindness, intelligence, and beauty to be unassailable. Kathryn liberated me from eternal servitude. She is indeed a remarkable human.”

B’Elanna groaned. “Please, stop. I have to cleanse my palate of that saccharine worship.” She waved a hand as if swatting away the sweetness, and then leaned into Seven with a devilish expression. “Tell me. How is she?”

“‘How is she?’” echoed Seven. “She is well. How are you?” she answered flatly.

Torres rolled her dark eyes. “I’m just dandy. No. I mean, after she’s done for the day being Captain Saint Kathryn, sacred patroness of undying virtue, how is she, ya know…” She bumped her elbow twice against Seven’s arm and winked.

Seven dropped her chin. “Do you mean, sexually, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, I mean sexually, Casanova,” she mirrored, imitating Seven’s low monotone. Seven wondered again at the ‘Casanova’ byname. Perhaps it was a term with which the Torres-Paris couple referred to the Borg in jest. Seven inferred, however, that the label was not malicious, based on the couple’s general amiability with her otherwise, and decided to answer the Engineer.

“She is,” Seven paused, searching for the correct wording. Then, Seven’s own subtle brand of devilish smirk appeared on her face when she said, “Very stimulating.”

B’Elanna laughed loudly, drawing the startled attention of her engineering subordinates nearby. “I’ll just bet she is.”

  
  
  
  


###  **VI. Out of the Mouths of Babes and Starchildren**

**Day 41**

Naomi Wildman scrunched her mouth in concentration, skin wrinkling around her small forehead spikes. The young half-Ktarian eyed her red pieces scattered discordantly along the right side of the game board, while the majority of her green pieces lay clumped, un-ideally near the center. She needed to free up her gold piece to break through the grid adjacent to the green glob, but her opponent had strategically surrounded the piece with red hexagons. Her options were limited, as was typical in her games with the ingenious Seven of Nine.

The girl sighed. “Red 13-2 to 13-4,” she ordered. Her best hope was to focus her dispersed reds inward to wedge her gold piece free.

“Counter,” said Seven predictably, moving her own red piece into 13-4.

Naomi exhaled through flapping lips and peered at the starchart in the ex-Borg’s private quarters. Usually, she played with the blonde in the Wildman living space, but to avoid disturbing her mother’s efforts in completing the monthly Hydroponics report for Commander Chakotay, her neighboring Borg offered to host.

“I’m terrible!” whined the child, throwing up her hands. The match had run long, and she was growing restless.

“On the contrary,” said her blonde opponent, calmly. “You have markedly improved.”

Naomi sighed. “Thanks, Seven, but I’m still never going to beat you.”

The Borg tilted her chin in accession. “That is likely true, however, I possess a number of attributes that place me at a distinct advantage to you — my matured brain development being the dominant one.”

“Red 13-2 to 15-2, and… Gold 15-7 to 15-4,” the little Ktarian said, making her move. “So, I’m too young to beat you?” she asked.

“Precisely,” said the Borg, eyeing the game board. “Perhaps when you have reached your adult maturation, and my own neural functions have significantly deteriorated with advanced age, then you will stand a chance at victory.”

A smile slowly spread wide across the young girl’s face; she erupted into a fit of giggles, rolling back onto the floor, posture weakened by her gaiety. Seven raised an eyebrow at the mirthful display. She opened her mouth to draw back the girl’s attention, when her door chimed and slid ajar to reveal a freshly off-duty Captain Janeway, letting herself in. Seven’s eyes reflexively lit up.

The Captain took a step over the threshold, and hopped back in surprise to see the tittering child next to the coffee table. “Oh hi, Captain,” grinned the girl, looking upside down at Janeway’s legs from her position on the floor.

“Hello, Miss Wildman,” said the Captain, smiling down at the child’s silliness.

Seven tore her eyes away from her petite partner, and looked down again at the girl. “Naomi Wildman, I fail to see what is so amusing.”

“I’m just thinking of you, Seven, as an old grandma playing Kadis-Kot with curly gray hair,” she laughed, “In a rocking chair with a cat in your lap.” She rolled onto her side and giggled anew.

Seven sighed. “Aging is a natural biological process,” she shot back.

Naomi sat up, grinning. “I know, I know, I’m just kidding you,” she twisted to look back at Janeway. “I can leave and finish my game with Seven later, Captain, so you guys can be alone. We didn’t mean to go so late.”

“No, that’s alright, Naomi. I just stopped by to talk with Seven about a, uh, navigational project we’ve been working on.”

“Oh,” said Naomi, furrowing her spiked brow in confusion. “But I thought you came here almost every night, Captain?” the child asked innocently.

“Ah,” said the Captain. Seven looked away, smothering a smile. “Well…” Kathryn stalled, at a loss.

“Your offer is irrelevant,” inserted Seven, bailing out her partner from slapping together some excuse. “Our match has concluded.” Seven shifted inward one of her gold pieces abutting Naomi’s green blob. “Kadis-kot,” she said, announcing her victory.

The girl dropped her head backward and moaned at the ceiling in frustration.

“Happens to the best of us, kiddo,” comforted Janeway.

Seven stood from her couch. “Indeed,” she said, drawing up a small, but saucy smirk. “The Captain is well acquainted with defeat against me on the Velocity court.”

Janeway scoffed, and set her hands on her hips in mock anger. “Not nearly as much as _you_ are, Miss Seven of Nine! And I’ll thank you to not spread such lies about my Velocity prowess to my Crewman,” she said pointing a finger at Naomi, who likewise stood, grinning again.

“I can guarantee, Captain, that I have nothing but the deepest respect for your physical prowess,” the Borg replied cheekily.

Janeway’s smile stretched wider. “I should hope so,” she said archly. The couple’s eyes sparkled in their banter.

Naomi laughed at the pair. “You guys have so much fun together!” she exclaimed just as the door chimed again behind them.

“Come in,” called Seven. The doors slid open to admit the grinning child’s mother, Ensign Samantha Wildman.

“Sorry Seven, my report took a little longer than I planned,” the blonde Ensign explained. “Hello, Captain,” she said breezily. Like her daughter, Samantha seemed wholly unsurprised to see Janeway in Seven’s quarters at this time of the evening.

Janeway opened her mouth to provide some reason for her presence, but after a moment of blankness merely said, “Hello, Ensign.” Samantha turned back to her Borg neighbor.

“Thanks again for watching her, Seven. My apologies for imposing on yours and the Captain’s evening.” Kathryn blushed yet again. _Oh, good lord_.

“We were not inconvenienced, Ensign Wildman. Your subunit was well behaved,” assured Seven.

Samantha smiled and bent down to kiss her daughter’s head. “Come on sweetie, let’s get your dinner.”

“Oh, right!” said Naomi, jumping to gather the game pieces and board back into its box.

“What do you think of Seven’s floral arrangements, Captain?” asked Samantha as her daughter cleaned up. “I think she’s got a real eye for it. I made sure to give her some of the blue orchids you like from hydroponics.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “Yes, they’re lovely, Samantha. She’s done a wonderful job.” Janeway scanned the vases around the living space, and smiled at Seven.

Seven shrugged off the praise. “It is a simple matter of alternating species and hue in an aesthetically appealing pattern such that—”

“All done, mom!” trilled Naomi, game box packed and ready to go.

“We will play again at our usual time on Sunday in your quarters,” reminded Seven, unoffended by the interruption.

Naomi moved to stand at parade rest, hands clutching the box at her back. “Acceptable,” she said in a dead-on impression of the ex-Borg. Behind her, Kathryn stifled a laugh with her hand. Samantha shook her head, smiling sardonically.

The child broke her mimicked posture and leapt forward to wrap her arms around the tall blonde’s legs in an embrace. “‘Night, Seven!” she said sweetly, as the ex-Borg awkwardly patted her on the back.

“Captain!” Naomi yipped, adjusting her small frame into respectful attention as any other crewmember may do in their Captain’s presence.

“At ease, Crewman. Goodnight,” laughed Janeway, brandishing a hand. The child scampered out.

“Have a nice night you two!” Samantha said with an unaffected air, waving goodbye at the couple in her retreat.

Janeway met Seven’s eyes. The Borg smirked. “I assure you, I have said nothing of our attachment to either of them.”

Janeway sighed and waved a hand. “I guess it’s impossible to keep anything from one’s neighbors, hm?” She walked forward and drew the blonde into a lazy kiss. “So, you respect my physical prowess, do you?” she asked against Seven’s lips.

“I believe I have made that clear on many occasions,” she answered, burrowing into the Captain’s neck and pressing her mouth into its sensitive spots.

“You’re very good with her,” Janeway said deeply, eyes fluttering.

“She is quite precocious, and seems to possess an unending supply of energy. She certainly views you in an idolic context. Though,” considered Seven, pulling back and shrugging, “You are exceedingly easy to admire.”

Janeway groaned playfully, and pressed her forehead against Seven’s chest. “I can’t handle how sweet you are.”

She kissed Janeway’s hair and held her tightly. “I am working to address that.”

  
  
  
  


###  **VII. A Drowning Commander Will Clutch at a Straw**

**Day 45**

Commander Chakotay shifted his weight between his feet outside the Captain’s quarters, waiting for her to respond to his chime. It was late, inching near midnight, but he knew her sleeping habits well enough to know she would still be awake. The Commander cleared his throat and cracked his neck as the seconds ticked by.

“Computer,” he asked, popping his knuckles, “What is the location of Captain Janeway?”

“Captain Janeway is in her quarters,” the feminine voice answered.

Chakotay had verified as much before leaving the weapons depot below decks, but given Janeway’s delay in answering, he wondered if he’d just missed her stepping out before his arrival. Apparently not. In his impatience to see her, he hit the chime once more. Just as he was about to call out for her through the thick separation of the bulkhead, the doors of her quarters slid open to reveal an irked Seven of Nine.

Chakotay’s mouth dropped open, his tattooed brow twisting in shock and fury, an emotion the Borg’s presence often seemed to elicit in the normally placid Commander.

“What are you doing here, Crewman?” snapped the Commander. His eyes quickly roamed over her body, noting that Seven’s customarily pristine presentation was decidedly altered. Her trademark French twist was replaced with a messy ponytail. Her usually exacting biosuit was slack around the neck, leading Chakotay to deduce it was not fully zipped up in the back. His eyes continued downward to rest upon a sight he had never seen before — Seven of Nine’s bare feet.

Seven raised an eyebrow in irritation of his inspection. “I could ask the same of you, Commander. The hour is late, and the Captain is off duty.”

The Commander opened his mouth to reprimand the crewmember for her boldness in questioning her XO’s access to the Captain when he spotted, over the Borg’s shoulder, the open doorway to Janeway’s bedroom off her main living area. His heart stopped at the vision.

Kathryn Janeway lay in repose on her bed, turned away with her naked back facing him. The elegant contour of her spine curved downward into crisp sheets bundled low across her hips. Her sinewy, yet shapely legs bent beautifully into the duvet spilling onto the floor. Her copper hair was fanned out across the pillow beneath her and down around her delicate neck. Her smooth shoulder and ribs rose up and down in time with her deep, slumbering breaths. _Spirits alive, she is breathtaking_. It tore his insides asunder to know he was never meant to see this fantasy. He noticed how the linens next to her were folded away as if someone had been laying by her side, and just gotten up.

Seven intentionally adjusted her body to block his view into Janeway’s bedroom. He glared at the ex-Borg.

“Are you sleeping with her?” he growled, voice laced with venom.

“At present? No. _She_ is sleeping. _I_ am speaking with you,” Seven responded cooly.

“You know what the hell I mean, Crewman.”

Seven’s cortical implant raised. “Indeed, I do. Although I fail to see how it is any of your concern.”

Chakotay pinched his eyes shut, and huffed a breath out his nose. “Everything dealing with the crew on this vessel is my concern.” 

“Noted.”

Chakotay scowled. “I am here to speak with the Captain.”

“I gathered that, Commander. As I said, she is currently off duty and sleeping. Is this an emergency? I have heard no communication to the Captain from the Gamma shift officers on the Bridge, if so.”

“Ensign Murphy detected power coupling failures in five of the photon torpedoes. I need the Captain’s approval to recycle the defective weapons for parts. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”

“I am aware of the supposed defections of the weaponry in question. Tell Ensign Murphy I will repair the power couplings using Borg enhancements tomorrow before the commencement of the Alpha shift. There is no need to recycle the equipment, and hence, no need to disturb the Captain at this hour.”

“I’m not your go-between, and I’ll determine what’s necessary to bring to the Captain’s attention. My patience with your Borg Bouncer routine is wearing thin,” he seethed.

“Commander, based on your description of the situation, this is not an emergency. The Captain has experienced very little sleep over the past several days. As her First Officer and friend, you must certainly agree with my desire not to disrupt her peaceful regeneration.”

Distantly, he felt something fracture inside of himself. “And just how would you know about her sleeping habits, Crewman?” he asked, leaning forward into the woman’s personal space.

Seven’s eyes drifted away in boredom of the conversation and his irrelevant anger. “Goodnight, Commander,” she said firmly before stepping back and shutting the doors.

—

Seven padded lightly across the living space and back into Janeway’s bedroom, twisting her arms backward to undo her slapdash zip job as she walked. Standing by the bed, she stripped down once again to nothing, and rolled her head around her neck in an attempt to clear her mind of the Commander’s disturbance. As carefully as she could manage, Seven lowered herself back down into Janeway’s bed, and slowly drew the sheets over their legs.

She paused to listen for any change in the auburn woman’s deep breathing. Hearing none, she deduced she could chance moving back into her original position. Seven gradually eased herself toward the Captain, until her breasts and abdomen pressed against Janeway’s bare back once more. The blonde shifted her head down so that her face could nuzzle into the back of Janeway’s neck and hair. She closed her eyes and inhaled in the smell. She could catalogue every base component of Janeway’s scent, but preferred to distill it into one, efficient word: clean. Feeling she was safe to hazard her last move, Seven brought her left arm around Kathryn to nestle under the smaller woman's breasts. At this, Janeway drew a sharp breath and jerked her chin towards the woman behind her.

“Shh,” Seven soothed in a whisper. “I did not wish to disturb you. Return to sleep.” Seven brushed her mouth against Janeway’s neck, noting that in her eagerness to fold her body against her partner, Seven had done the thing she had just derided Chakotay for attempting to do with his flimsy reasoning: wake the peaceful Janeway.

“Mm,” said Janeway by way of response. The petite Captain brought her left arm to rest on top of Seven’s and lightly scratched her nails along the skin back and forth. “Did something happen?” she rasped sleepily.

Seven kissed the skin behind Janeway’s ear. “Nothing that requires your attention at this moment.” The blonde moved to kiss down the Captain’s neck and along her shoulder. She shifted her arm back to stroke down the left flank of the smaller woman and over her hip, pushing the sheets away.

Janeway hummed; the Captain placed her hand over Seven’s metal-laced one caressing her side, and pulled it downward to the junction of her thighs.

Sensing Janeway’s intent, Seven ceased her kisses and stilled her hand. “I have acted impulsively. You need to rest.”

Janeway’s eyes fluttered open with a smile. “No, I just need you.”

The husk of Janeway’s voice and her seductive words caused Seven to moan into the petite woman’s neck. Her resistance faltered. “Will you promise to sleep afterwards?” Seven whispered.

Janeway, eyes closed once again, and nodded. “I promise,” she rasped.

Seven wasted no time. The blonde slid a leg in between her partner’s, and pulled Janeway’s left one over Seven’s hip to open up the Captain’s sex widely for her ministrations. Having the Captain like this, open wide and vulnerable, pliant and yielding to her mercy, was intoxicating. Seven slipped her metal hand between the petite woman’s thighs; Kathryn was already very wet, or perhaps she was simply _still_ wet from their earlier session. Seven, pleased in either case, returned to kissing Janeway’s neck, while alternating licking and sucking the area in time with her hand’s strokes below.

Janeway gasped and ground her buttocks back into Seven, grasping at the mattress and the blonde beauty in turns. “More, Honey,” she breathed. Seven’s eyes fluttered closed at the endearment, Kathryn’s private designation for her partner.

“Yes. Anything for you, Katie,” she vowed, speaking her own, and slipping two fingers easily inside the wetness. Janeway keened, and rolled her hips in sync with Seven’s thrusts.

Seven looked down at the Captain’s wiry body, flushed with passion. Kathryn had strong, muscle-thin arms and legs, which were unusually long in proportion to her petite stature, and rosy, even skin dotted with sparse freckles. Though her angular military uniform hid its contents well, Kathryn cut a rather dainty, feminine figure underneath. As she thought every time she witnessed Janeway in this state, Seven had never seen a more beautiful creature. “You are exquisite,” she whispered to her.

Janeway hummed licking her lips, and reached her left hand behind herself to slip between their bodies. Before Seven could protest, Janeway’s glorious, tapered fingers were caressing Seven’s slightly curvier, yet lean body, and then dipping low to circle and stroke Seven’s own wetness. The blonde choked a moan into her Captain’s shoulder at the expert touch. “I—,” she strained, “ _revere_ your beautiful hands.” Janeway cried out at the praise and ground onto Seven’s fingers with even more force.

After several minutes of their coupling, Seven knew they were both climbing to their peak, but Seven estimated that she was ahead of her partner. “I wanted you so badly that I... am already,” Seven moaned, “approaching climax. I require you to come with me.”

Janeway’s right hand moved to grip Seven’s forearm tightly, as she cried out once more. She knew Kathryn liked Seven to verbalize her thoughts in bed. The blonde maintained her expeditious pace below.

“ _Please_ , Katie,” she breathed. The plea was all it took. Janeway gasped loudly, and Seven felt the purchase of her Captain’s orgasm around her metal fingers. The sensations overwhelmed Seven, and she followed quickly behind, with brilliant stars, psychedelic iridescence, and streams of integers bursting behind her eyelids. The chests of both women heaved as their waves coiled and subsided. Seven felt her own wet spend dripping down her thigh, but was unbothered. She leaned over and kissed Kathryn on her smooth lips. The smaller woman reached back to stroke Seven’s implant-punctated face as their tongues tangled together.

Seven wondered if her experience was common to all human women — the hyper vivid spectacle of colorful numbers and complex fractals that asserted themselves in her mind’s eye when she came — or if her resplendent orgasms were the result of her nanoprobe-enhanced nerve endings. Or perhaps still, they were so incandescent simply because she was with Kathryn Janeway. She asked as much of the woman next to her.

Janeway, eyes closed, smiled tranquilly. “I don’t know, Honey,” she husked. “I just think you must be quite exceptional.”

“As are you,” murmured the blonde into the delicate bones in the back of Janeway’s neck. “Peerless. Rare. Singular.”

Her Katie sighed prettily. “I never know what to say to your sweetness.”

Seven brushed auburn strands away from Kathryn’s jaw and kissed her there. “I suppose that is an improved reaction to my compliments.”

Kathryn laughed softly and nestled deeper into Seven’s embrace. The blonde returned her arm to rest snugly underneath her Captain’s breasts.

“Now, sleep, as you promised.”

  
  
  
  


###  **VIII. It Takes Two Lieutenants to Tango**

**Day 49**

“Commander!” called B’Elanna Torres. “Join us,” she invited, waving one hand in her trio’s direction, and stabbing a fork through her steak salad with the other.

Commander Chakotay, lunch tray clutched between level hands, turned toward the voice of his Chief Engineer and took an automatic step in her direction before halting. The First Officer’s eyes scanned the Klingon’s lunchmates, finding the blonde Chief Helmsman sitting next to her, and the blonde Astrometrics Head just across. The seat next to the former Borg remained empty where, presumably, B’Elanna was urging Chakotay to sit. The Borg and the Commander made eye contact; the man’s lips clenched in mild disgust.

Tom looked up from his tomato soup, and noisily slurped down a mouthful from his spoon. Swallowing, he frowned in confusion at the First Officer’s vexed mien.

Chakotay broke his stare down with Seven of Nine and looked back at the Klingon with a strained politeness. “Not today, Lieutenant. I have to take a working lunch in my office. Raincheck,” he offered. With a final subtle sneer at Seven, he turned from the threesome, and left the mess hall entirely.

The helmsman jerked his head back in perplexity. “Who peed in his soup?”

B’Elanna winced, gazing at the woman across from her. “My mistake, Seven. I wasn’t thinking.”

Seven pushed aside the glass containing her pink nutritional supplement shake. “It is quite alright, Lieutenant. His current animosity toward me is immaterial.”

Tom wrinkled his forehead. “You weren’t thinking about _what_?” he prodded his girlfriend. “What’s going on? Why would he be pissed at you?” he asked his Borg friend.

Seven sighed. “Four nights ago, the Commander visited the Captain’s quarters at approximately 23:50. I answered the door to avoid waking the Captain from her regeneration. Suffice it to say, my presence displeased him.”

Tom huffed a sound of aloofness through his nose. “So. You were there,” he said, shrugging at the innocuousness. Seven nodded. “So?” he drew out slowly, not getting it.

“ _So_ , he further observed the Captain in her nudity as she slept. I presume he drew the proper conclusions,” she finished, primly placing both hands in her lap.

Tom leaned toward Seven and raised an eyebrow. “‘Drew the proper conclusions’?” he echoed, voice low. His mouth dropped open, realization dawning. “You’re fucking the Captain, and you don’t tell me?” he hissed with urgency.

“Hush!” shushed his girlfriend, cutting her dark eyes away to case for notice of his outburst in the crewmembers around them.

Ignoring her, Tom slapped both palms on the table in Seven’s direction, indeed drawing the startled glances of several mess hall attendants nearby. “Jesus, man! How long has this been going on?”

“Will you stop making a scene?” B’Elanna ordered. “That’s none of your business, anyway!”

“Five weeks and four days,” answered the Borg tacitly. “I had assumed that Lieutenant Torres informed you of the development.”

Tom whipped his head around to his partner. “You knew about this, and _you_ didn't tell me?”

“You’re not dating a snitch, Tommy,” said the Klingon, chewing a bit of steak.

“The Captain wishes our attachment to remain a private matter. Lieutenant Torres discovered it by mere happenstance,” said Seven quietly.

Tom scoffed, collapsing back into his chair. He shook his head, flabbergasted. “Unreal. You really are Casanova,” he murmured. “I mean, to land _Janeway_ …” he paused, eyes glazing over. B’Elanna elbowed him in the ribs. He screwed his eyes shut, and waved a hand in the blonde woman’s direction. “And Chakotay’s pissed about this?”

B’Elanna snorted. “Obviously,” she said around a mouthful of romaine.

Tom shrugged in agreement, swirling his spoon around in the now room temperature soup. “Well, he is hot for Captain. We all knew that,” he said, rubbing his chin in consideration. 

“Crude, but yes, that is my hypothesis,” agreed Seven.

“He must be crazy jealous that someone else gets to have her. Even worse that it’s you,” Tom said, jabbing his spoon in the Borg’s direction. “You and Chakotay haven’t exactly been best pals since you got here. Botched Borg treaty, resistance is futile, airlock, yadda yadda,” he ticked off.

“Correct,” said Seven, before taking another sip of her liquid sustenance.

Tom pushed his bowl to the side abruptly; a bit of the soup sloshed out onto the table. “Enough about him.” He leaned toward the ex-Borg once more, eyes mischievous. “So, you and Janeway. The Blonde Adonis and Captain McLovely. Going at it. Describe this.” He leered, “In detail.”

“Tommy!” snapped B’Elanna, backhanding his arm. The helmsman flinched slightly from her playful sting, but maintained impish eye contact with Seven.

“You wish to know the details of my sexual congress with the Captain, Lieutenant Paris?”

“You’re a deviant, Tom,” chided the Klingon.

Seven drew a breath. It seemed this was information friends shared with one another. “Well, she is quite responsive,” nodded the Borg. “And as I suspected, her hands are dexterous and _exceptionally_ skilled.”

“I knew it,” said Tom deeply.

“I find that she is considerably vocal in her approval when I execute cunnilingus,” and, with a hint of pride, “Which I believe I perform with alacrity.”

“Holy shit,” Tom gulped, taking a beat to process. He smirked, “Yeah, I’m a huge fan of performing that, too.”

“Alright,” interrupted Torres, waving a hand. “You’ve had enough fun with your bosom buddy for one day.”

“Did you not inquire about my sexual encounters with the Captain as well, Lieutenant Torres?” Seven reminded, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Tom, turning toward his partner. “Who’s the deviant now, my Klingon Queen?”

“That was mostly payback, and _I_ didn’t ask for details. Also, I’m a woman. It’s less gross, trust me,” explained B’Elanna, tossing her brunette locks.

Tom laughed. “Right.”

A ghost of a smile flashed over the Borg’s face as she regarded the couple. “I believe the two of you are quite well matched,” she concluded.

“Awww,” grinned Tom.

B’Elanna looked queasy. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Seven,” she grumbled.

“Merely an apt observation,” she offered.

“Well, as entertaining as this has all been, I have dilithium to process and smelt. Otherwise, ‘we’re all going to have to get out and push,’” teased the engineer, poking her boyfriend in the arm to attribute the turn of phrase to him as she said it. She moved away from the blondes, carrying all of their dishes to the replicator to recycle. Tom stood as well.

“Hey, listen. Don’t worry about Chakotay, Sev,” said Tom quietly. “He’s just a little raw at the moment, but he’ll get used to it. God knows he’d never want to disappoint the Captain.”

Seven rose from her chair, sighing. “I believe you are correct. In any case, it is only a minor inconvenience for me. My primary concern is the guilt his discomfort elicits in Kathryn. It is an unnecessary burden to add to her already stressful existence. I am doing my best to alleviate those burdens whenever possible.”

“Damn, Sev. I bet you’re one hell of a girlfriend,” he said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder just as B’Elanna joined them once again.

“Speaking of which,” interjected his partner. “You can’t say anything about them, Tommy. To anyone. No Harry, no Chakotay ribbing, nothing.” She rubbed her thumb against his lips to soften her warning with affection.

Tom raised a hand up in capitulation. “I got it, I got it. Mum’s the word.” He mimed zipping his lips closed.

“The Captain will appreciate your discretion,” said Seven.

Tom nodded, smiling. The trio all turned and shuffled toward the mess hall exit. “My stars, Sweetheart!” he cried, melodramatically leaning into his girlfriend and blotting away invisible tears with his uniform sleeve. He sniffed, “Our little Borg is all grown up!”

  
  
  
  


###  **IX. You Can Have Your Captaincy and Eat It Too**

**Day 58**

Kathryn Janeway tossed her uniform jacket and PADD onto the ottoman with a sigh, and reached up to clamp rigid fingers into the soreness around her neck. Her hair was now long enough to clip back into a smart ponytail that hung between her shoulder blades in one of her Kazon exilee styles of old. It had been Seven of Nine’s suggestion that she grow it out, and Janeway, eager to please her young partner, readily obliged. She bent her body over at the hips, stretching downward in hopes of loosening the tension of the day. She spotted Seven’s booted feet in front of her and straightened. “Hi, Honey,” she smiled before half-collapsing into the Borg.

Seven reached around Janeway’s body, pulling her close, and stroked through soft auburn strands. Her Borg hand moved up and down the Captain’s spine, cataloging the bumps of her vertebrae.

“You are growing too thin,” said Seven, muffled into the hair of the other woman. “I will be more vigilant about your nutrition intake.” Seven felt Janeway’s mouth pull tight into a smile against her neck.

“I’m alright,” the Captain assured. She moved back slightly, and smiled up at the blonde. Janeway took the Borg’s face in each of her hands, and pulled her down to meet her lips. Seven reacted immediately, kissing the small Captain back greedily. A familiar tingling spread through Kathryn’s abdomen at the affection, a phenomenon she had grown to expect every time she found herself in the presence of her gorgeous ex-Borg. She broke away from their kiss, and looked over her partner’s shoulder toward the kitchen area.

“What are you making? Smells great.”

“Another Terran standard,” said the Borg.

“Is that pizza?” Janeway smiled.

“Correct. I thought you might enjoy it. It is Lieutenant Paris’s favorite dish.”

“No complaints here.”

“I have made two servings: one for you and I, and one for Lieutenants Torres and Paris to consume this evening. I was planning to take it to them before we dined.”

Janeway’s eyes softened. “That is so thoughtful, Seven. I’m sure they’ll be touched.”

“Would you like to come with me to deliver it?”

Janeway’s smile faded. “I don’t know, Honey...”

“Need I remind you, they are both aware of our attachment?”

Janeway shook her head. “No, you needn’t remind me.” She sighed, considering. “Alright I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

The pair traversed through the corridors and turbo lift in near silence, only encountering a shift-tired Ensign Baytart, who snapped to attention at the sight of the petite Captain.

“Evening, Ensign,” she’d said, waving off his formal posture. Baytart nodded with a “ma’am,” and cast a curious glance at the pair and the replicated, Earth-accurate pizza box Seven carried. In short order, the couple reached Lieutenant Paris’s quarters, and rang for entrance.

“Captain, what a surprise! Good evening,” said Tom formally. The pilot, similar to the Captain, had already shed his uniform jacket for the night and was down to his short-sleeve turtleneck. “Hey, Sev!” Tom said jovially, spotting the Borg. “Oh wow, did you make pizza for us?”

“Indeed,” nodded the Borg.

“Man, what a gal,” he said, taking the offered box, and popping the lid open just far enough to catch a whiff of the meal. “B’Elanna!” he called behind him, “Look who’s here.”

B’Elanna came out from the bedroom garbed in her Starfleet tank top and trousers. “Captain, Seven! This is a surprise.”

“They brought us pizza!” said Tom, raising the box. The pilot used his free arm to corral the two women into the quarters. “Come in, come in.”

“We weren’t planning on staying,” began the Captain. “We just wanted to drop this off and let you two enjoy your evening.”

Tom and B’Elanna, who had started placing plates and napkins on the dining table, turned to face the Captain. “You mean, you’re not going to stay and eat with us?” asked Tom.

“Yeah, Captain, you should stay,” said Torres.

The Captain made a sound of protest in her throat, and turned to look at Seven. The ex-Borg raised her cortical implant and formed a small smile in silent persuasion. Janeway sighed, and nodded.

“Alright, why not?” she said to their hosts.

“Great!” said Tom clapping his palms together.

“I will retrieve the other serving,” said Seven, stepping towards the door.

“No, no,” said Janeway, wrapping her hand around the Borg’s forearm and hauling her back. “I’ll get it. You go ahead and get comfortable,” she said leaving the room before the blonde Borg could argue.

Tom grinned, threw an arm around Seven’s shoulders, and clutched her tightly. “Wow, Sev, you really _do_ get anything you want from her.”

“This situation is hardly a notable example,” said Seven dryly.

“Ah, just admit it. You’ve got her whipped, old chap,” said Tom jostling her shoulder. Seven rolled her eyes at his ragging.

B’Elanna regarded the two blondes and shook off a shiver. “Kahless, you look like siblings when you stand like that. It’s creepy.” She flipped a hand between them, gesturing for their separation.

Tom laughed. “I guess I got all the scoundrel genes then.” He moved to the replicator to order a suitable red wine for the occasion.

“This _is_ very nice of you, Seven. And I think this is good for her,” offered B’Elanna. “It’s kind of a big step.”

“‘A big step’? In what sense?” asked the blonde woman.

“You’re introducing your best girl to your friends!” Tom supplied, spreading his arms wide to indicate himself and Torres as said friends.

“You have both been acquainted with Captain Janeway far longer than I have,” said the Borg evenly.

Tom waved a hand. “Yeah, but that’s different. We’ve never met her as your girlfriend, on a double date.”

Seven raised a questioning eyebrow at B’Elanna. The Klingon stunner shrugged a shoulder and nodded in agreement with her partner. “Don’t worry,” assured the engineer, “He’ll be normal,” she ordered loudly, eyeing her boyfriend. 

Tom smiled and put his palms up in surrender. “Best behavior,” he agreed. “You know I’d never embarrass my bro.” B’Elanna rolled her eyes.

Upon Janeway’s return, the foursome sat down to an amiable and surprisingly un-awkward meal, much to the Captain’s relief. _Maybe we can do this_.

Tom leaned back, goblet of wine in hand, and looked at the auburn woman across from him. “So Cap, what did you make of the pulsars this morning? I couldn’t believe those drag readings, not with the force from those waves. I mean, virtually zero,” said Tom, pizza-happy and barroom pilot mode fully engaged.

Janeway tossed her crust back into the box that housed the rest of the leftover crispy carcasses. She inclined her chin in assent. “It was something. I was worried for a minute there that the nacelles wouldn’t have the right airfoil to offset the heavy push, like you mention,” she said pantomiming the repetitive flow of the pulsar’s radiation waves with one hand over top her other flattened hand, representing Voyager.

“Right?” said Tom nodding, tracking the Captain’s movements. “Normally, we’d hit stall in that situation, and have to downshift to impulse if the push hadn’t already put me on deadstick with those systems, too,” he said, copying her hand demonstration, but shifting to slap his ‘wave’ hand against his flat ‘Voyager’ one and seesawing the hand-ship. He shook his head in awe. “But with the Borg Yoke compensation,” he said, turning his ‘Voyager’ hand back flat and zooming it forward as if in warp, “Straight flight. No drag. Wild.”

Janeway nodded, smiling. “It was impressive. I admit it went more smoothly than I’d anticipated.” The Captain narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you fishing for compliments, Chief?” she bantered.

The helmsman laughed, shaking his head. “I would never, Captain. If anything, the compliment is Sev’s,” he said clicking a finger gun in the Astrometrics officer’s direction. “Like I said, without Borg Yoke, I would have looked like a real idiot today.”

“Wow, then today must have been a nice vacation for you,” said B’Elanna, smiling deviously at her boyfriend. Janeway laughed.

“Oh ha, ha, ha,” said the Chief Helmsman, pushing his face close to the Klingon beauty, and sneaking a quick kiss on her cheek. B’Elanna beamed. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

Seven’s lips twitched in amusement. “You are an adept pilot, Lieutenant. It was a joint effort as usual.” Janeway smiled at the blonde Borg, and surreptitiously rubbed her hand along her thigh under the table.

“Barely,” snorted Tom in self-deprecation. 

“Yeah, but I don’t know, Seven. I don’t remember Captain Janeway needing Borg Yoke when she rammed the ship through those _twin_ pulsars last year,” teased B’Elanna with a grin. Janeway groaned and slapped a hand to the side of her face, attempting to hide her own smile.

“Oh, right,” said Tom tapping a finger to his chin in satirized concentration. “A binary pulsar, was it? She shot the needle between them at maximum warp with all shield power re-routed to thrusters? Quite the little speed demon. Tsk tsk, I’m away from my helm for five minutes, and this is what happens?” His shoulders began to shake with unreleased laughter.

Janeway winced in embarrassment. “That might not have been my finest moment.”

B’Elanna chuckled, “I disagree, Captain! I heard you really held your own. What was it she said to the alien, Seven?”

Seven tilted her head and deadpanned, “The alien questioned the Captain’s plan as simple intimidation. I believe Captain Janeway said, ‘You’re welcome to stick around and find out.’”

Tom and B’Elanna lost it. The pair fell against each other cackling, hands clutching their sides. Janeway herself couldn’t help but crack-up as well, leaning into the Borg with her eyes leaking tears. Even Seven smiled broadly at the recollection and the warmth of the Captain at her side.

“She— she—,” B’Elanna forced through fits of giggles, and swiping her hand to emphasize her point, “She had had e—fucking—nough!”

Just as the trio was starting up another bout of shrieks, the door chimed behind them. Tom rose, wiping moisture from the corners of his eyes. “Oh god,” he wheezed, “You know when a Vulcan calls you reckless, you’ve crossed the Rubicon.”

Janeway shook her head grinning, “I think I almost gave poor Tuvok a heart attack.”

Tom opened the door to a smiling Harry Kim, bouncing on the balls of his feet and holding a deck of cards. “Hey Harry,” said Tom, still breathless from his laughing fit.

“Hey,” Harry said, entering. “Oh hello, Captain… Seven,” he said, eyes finding the two smiling women. “I thought we could play a few rounds of Rummy,” he said looking at Tom, “But I can come back tomorrow night if this is a bad time.”

“No, that’s alright,” said Janeway, standing from her seat and dropping her napkin on the table. “We should get going anyway.” Seven nodded and rose as well, pushing their chairs in.

“This was fun,” said B’Elanna getting up to walk the women out.

“Indeed,” nodded Seven, still sporting her Mona Lisa smile.

“We’ll do this again soon,” said the Captain, voice husky with her laughter.

“Absolutely,” smiled Tom as he ushered Harry into the room.

While Tom occupied Harry with deck shuffling and game set-up, B’Elanna grabbed the Captain’s arm, delaying the couple’s exit. The engineer jerked her head twice in the young Ensign’s direction, and lifted her eyebrows at Janeway. The silent question was obvious to the Captain. _Is it alright if he knows?_

Janeway opened her mouth to protest, lifting her arms in a shrug. She looked over at her blonde partner, and after a beat, dropped her arms with an exhale. She peered back at her Chief Engineer, and nodded, raising a shoulder in acquiescence. B’Elanna twisted her closed lips up in a smile and squeezed her Captain’s arm.

“See you both tomorrow,” she said, and released them. The Klingon looked wistfully at the retreating pair, and turned back to the two men.

“Ah, you guys had _pizza_?” whined Harry walking over to stuff a fragment of their leftovers in his mouth. He looked back at Torres and Paris, chewing. “Seven and the Captain sure seemed to be in a good mood tonight. Come to think, they have been for a while. Wonder why,” he mused earnestly, words muffled through his mouthful of crust. B’Elanna and Tom grinned at the Ensign’s obliviousness.

“Jesus, kid,” muttered Tom under his breath. 

“Harry,” offered B’Elanna more helpfully, “They’re dating.”

Harry attempted to swallow the mouthful of cooled pizza and wrinkled his brow. “Dating who?”

Tom barked a laugh.

“Each. Other.” enunciated Torres in exasperation.

Harry’s eyebrows shot up just as he started coughing on the dry crumbs of crunchy bread. Tom reached over and slapped Harry’s back to clear the younger man’s choking.

“I think you killed him, B’Elanna.”

  
  
  
  


###  **X. A Vulcan Saved Is a Vulcan Earned**

**Day 61**

Seven stood in a corner near the bar, hands at parade rest. Due to the clandestine (though becoming less so by the day) nature of her relationship with the Captain, she had arrived at the party alone to wait to rendezvous with the redhead on unsuspiciously friendly terms when she entered later. Further, other members of the Senior Staff were either engaged in other interactions at present or absent altogether. As such, she was content to remain in solitude and avoid unwanted conversations with lesser acquainted colleagues in her waiting.

“Seventh Heaven!” a jeans-and-tropical-shirt adorned Tom Paris greeted. Seven turned toward his voice as the pilot and Lieutenant Torres made their way over, drinks in hand.

“This is a good look,” said the Chief Engineer, eyeing the blonde woman’s new outfit.

“Yeah, more like Seven of Fine,” teased Tom, raising a hand for Seven to high-five, a social custom of celebration the pilot had taught to the ex-Borg. Seven automatically lifted her palm to complete the gesture, but B’Elanna’s hand zipped out and intercepted the Borg’s wrist.

“Kahless, don’t reward him for that,” the Klingon female said, releasing Seven’s limb only after Tom dropped his own hand.

Tom laughed at his girlfriend’s ire. “Seriously though, you look nice,” he said to the blonde woman.

Seven looked down at her altered attire, which she had not considered to be particularly conspicuous when she selected it. In lieu of her traditional skintight biosuit, Seven had selected a black t-shirt, which she tucked into slate gray, fitted trousers with black ankle boots and belt. Her signature blonde French twist remained unchanged.

“The Doctor informed me that attending a birthday celebration in uniform is considered bad taste.”

“Generally, yes,” confirmed the engineer, herself casually adorned in black pants and a royal blue tank top. “Though something tells me the guest of honor won’t abide by that rule.”

“Yeah, where is the birthday boy anyway?” asked Tom, scanning the room.

“Commander Tuvok is seated at a table along the back wall,” said Seven, inclining her head toward the area indicated.

Tom saw the Vulcan, and sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Uh, oh,” he said.

Out of Tom’s negative appraisal, Seven observed the Commander in more detail than she had when she first arrived at Sandrine’s. He was seated, indeed kitted in his gold-striped uniform, surrounded by some of the more loquacious members of his Security department and Voyager’s resident chatty Talaxian. Tuvok, hands clasped around a cup of Vulcan spiced tea, stared straight ahead in complete silence as his garrulous companions continued to gab, giggle, and gossip around him. Seven discerned that the Vulcan was absolutely miserable at his own event.

“He is displeased,” she said aloud.

“Irate, I’d say,” supplied B’Elanna.

Tom scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that is his personal hell.”

“Let’s give it a minute. Maybe Neelix will move on,” said B’Elanna, though she sounded unconvinced.

“Oh, by the way, we haven’t had a chance to tell you. Dinner the other night with your girlfriend, Kathryn…” Tom looked up and snapped the fingers of a hand thrice, in pretense of forming a recollection. His eyes squinted. “... Janeway, was it? Well, she's just delightful, Sev, babe. A real doll! The wife and I approve,” he said, gregariously putting two thumbs up.

B’Elanna rolled her chocolate eyes. “In all seriousness, Seven, it was nice to see her relax a little. You guys are great together.”

“Thank you, I quite agree,” she nodded to the engineer and pilot. The couple smiled and all three turned their attention back to the gloomy Security Chief.

“We should assist him,” suggested Seven.

“Who, Tuvok?” asked Harry Kim who had suddenly appeared at Seven’s side. The Borg jerked her head in his direction, startled by the Ensign’s unannounced entrance.

“Correct,” she said, recovering herself.

“Yeah, I _think_ you should be having fun at your own birthday party. Although, maybe after you’ve celebrated 110 of them, the 111th is just tiresome,” said Harry, shaking his head at the sullen Vulcan.

“Perhaps we could beckon him over with some false inquiry,” Seven proposed, but before she could suggest an appropriate deception for their use, her breath caught in her throat. Kathryn had glided into the venue, a vision.

The diminutive Captain had also forgone her Starfleet-issued uniform for the occasion. In substitute, she was clothed in a smooth, eggshell-colored sheath dress, which revealed her toned arms and shapely legs from the knees down. Her fleet-regulation leather boots were replaced with cream stilettos, a style of shoe the Borg had never seen the Captain wear. Most alluring of all was her shiny auburn hair, which tumbled loose and free down past her shoulder blades. _Beautiful_.

Seven felt her mouth grow dry. As her eyes traced down the lines of Kathryn’s calves, she swallowed to clear the aridity of her tongue and palate. The Captain had not yet looked her way, instead traveling directly over to the Vulcan, whose misery she had no doubt clocked the second she had arrived. Tuvok turned his eyes to his auburn friend, and his normally emotionless face comically flooded with relief. Seven saw Janeway make some excuse to Neelix and the others, and patted her Security Chief on the shoulder before leading him away to an empty table on the other side of the room. The two close friends relaxed in their chairs, speaking comfortably. The corners of Seven’s mouth twitched up in a shadow of a smile at Kathryn’s easy kindness.

“Yo, Sev!” shouted Tom.

Seven’s eyes snapped away from the object of her affection and towards the blonde pilot. “Yes?” she answered breathily. Harry and B’Elanna grinned at her, both stifling giggles.

“We thought we lost you for a second there, buddy,” laughed Tom lightly.

“I have not... moved from my position…” she trailed, returning her gaze to the Captain.

“Oh man, you’ve got it bad,” chuckled Tom. The Borg did not hear him.

—

Janeway leaned close to her friend, balancing delicately on her elbows. “I should have gotten here sooner,” she said in lieu of apology. “I could have spared you.”

“I admit, I was in an undesirable situation. Suffice to say, out of all of my fellow crewmembers, Mister Neelix is indeed one of them,” Tuvok said flatly. 

Janeway barked a laugh. “He means well, my dear.”

Tuvok remained impassive. “However, now you have arrived, and it is illogical to dwell on what cannot be changed. At any rate, it is fortuitous that you pulled me aside. I have been meaning to speak with you privately, Kathryn.”

“Uh, oh,” she braced against the Vulcan’s use of her first name. A rare occurrence indeed. “What have I done now?”

“You have, as far as I understand it, engaged in a monogamous relationship with a crewmember.”

“Not you, too,” she groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her forehead. Episodes of her discomfort amongst B’Elanna, Chakotay, Naomi, Samantha, Tom, and Harry flashed through her mind.

“I believe you mistake my acknowledgement for censure. I have no intention of admonishing you, Captain. I will, however, provide you with my perspective on the matter.”

The Captain placed her hands carefully back on the table and looked up at the Commander. “Go ahead.”

“You have long eschewed your personal happiness to prioritize the needs of this crew. You have helped many, including myself, without a second thought to your own safety or satisfaction. While admirable, I believe this approach has been detrimental to your wellbeing. Allowing yourself this small allowance after years of self-denial, with the rewards greatly outweighing the risks, is only logical. Further, Seven of Nine is an exemplary individual, and a more than worthy partner. She cares deeply for you, and you for her. You are a pair well suited. Finally, I hope you know that you can rely on me to be a dispassionate ear should you ever feel compromised in your command due to your emotions in her regard.”

“So, I have your blessing then?” she asked, tilting her head.

“You do not need it, but you have it, if you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved to have an acceptance she did not know she craved.

“I know you well, Captain. Therefore, the only grievance I will submit is that you believed you could successfully keep this information from my awareness,” the Vulcan said, raising a pointed eyebrow.

Janeway propped up a hand and rested her chin inside it. “And how could I have ever managed that, dearest?” she asked wryly.

“Seven of Nine,” said Tuvok, looking away from her.

Janeway rotated around in her seat to see the nordic beauty standing by their table. She smiled, eyes sparkling at the young woman.

“Greetings, Commander Tuvok,” said Seven.

“Please, sit,” offered Tuvok as he gestured to the empty chair next to Janeway. She did so.

“I have prepared a gift for you, Commander.” Seven reached into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a metal, handheld device. She inverted it, and supplied it to the Security Chief, handle-first. The sable Vulcan raised the instrument toward his face for inspection, his judicious eyes cataloguing its specifications.

“It is a disruptor, which I retrofitted with Borg enhancements to be effective against all classes of handheld phasers. Sidearms. Rifles. Borg Drone Plasma weaponry,” Seven listed. “I believe it to be the only one of its kind, but am able to render more of them if you require.”

Tuvok’s eyebrows raised, impressed. “This gift is both fascinating to me mechanically, and pragmatic in my vocation. Thank you, Seven. I have little doubt that I will find it useful.”

“I am gratified you think it suitable.” she nodded.

Janeway warmed at the outwardly staid, but inwardly tender exchange between her two most unflappable crewmembers. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten you anything, Commander,” she said, placing a light hand on Tuvok’s ebony wrist.

“On the contrary. You absconded away with me from a disagreeable setting, and supplied me with far more satisfying company here.” Tuvok tilted his head in the Captain’s direction. “A most auspicious gift.”

The Captain grinned. “You say the most thoughtful things, Tuvok. And I hope you’ll grant me this one liberty today.”

Janeway reached her hands up to hold each side of the Vulcan’s handsome face. “Happy birthday, old friend,” she wished softly. Then, to seal her fondness, she leaned up and kissed him on the forehead. When they parted, the externally dispassionate Commander paused, then reached over and enveloped her slender hand warmly inside his own.

—

After the party, Janeway set off for her quarters only to be tailed, she noticed, by someone a dozen or so meters behind her. Arriving at her rooms, Janeway keyed in the entry code with an ear trained on the accelerating steps behind her. Her doors slid open and she stepped inside, whipping around suddenly to face her follower.

“Can I help you, Crewman?” she flashed, placing her hands against each side of the door frame.

Seven leaned close to the petite redhead, eyes hungry. “Yes, you can,” she said deeply. Seven pushed Janeway by the shoulders into her quarters and slapped the controls to close the door. In one fluid motion, the blonde flipped the Captain around and pressed her back solidly against the bulkhead.

“This is highly inappropriate,” said the Captain, her breath short.

Seven pressed her body against Janeway’s and smirked. “You are free to put me on report, Captain,” she said, drawing out a husky laugh from the diminutive woman.

Seven’s hands gripped Janeway’s waist, moving up to thumb at her breasts, then back down to caress her hips and the swell of her buttocks; she tugged the Captain close by the backs of her thighs, and ground against her agonizingly slow. Janeway hummed her approval.

“You are quite an intriguing paradox, Captain,” she breathed, reaching down to pull up Kathryn’s pale sheath dress to her hips. Janeway gasped when Seven’s fingers slid against her. “You exude such _power_ for so small a person.”

Janeway, eyes dark and sparkling, grinned wickedly as Seven dropped to her knees.

  
  
  
  


###  **XI. The Road to Hell Is Paved with Good Away Missions**

**Day 75**

Seven had eagerly requested assignment on the away team accompanying Captain Janeway in a routine trade negotiation with the Bandooli colony on Terez, the last M-class planet Voyager would encounter in their current spatial grid. Seven’s mapping of the subsequent grid would be completed within the next three days, but the uncertainties of the Delta Quadrant had beaten an abundance of caution into the Captain with regards to inventory of essentials. She would rather not fly by a lesser-known colony filled with useful goods when she had no guarantee another M-class planet would be within their reach in the near future.

The Bandoolians, a humanoid species with pronounced zygomatic arches and flat noses, had been willing traders, particularly for Voyager’s hydroponic samples. The team, consisting of Ensigns Murphy and Wildman, Lieutenants Ayala and Torres, Seven, and the Captain herself, successfully traded some of the ship’s excess agricultural materials to haggle for nonperishable foodstuffs, 6 new compression rifles, 10 magnetometric charges, and some quantities of the ever-demanded deuterium. While overseeing the loading of the bartered goods into the away team’s shuttle, the Bandoolian Trade Minister urged them to enjoy the colony’s outdoor market adjacent to his offices. The Captain, ever the explorer, had been raring to do so.

Seven, for her part, could hardly believe her luck. She had the unexpected fortune of spending an entire afternoon exploring a host of unfamiliar flora, fauna, raw materials, and technology in the open air market alongside her beautiful Captain. They so rarely spent time together off the ship, and Seven relished the stolen hours.

“He’s a cute little thing. Looks a bit like a hedgehog to me,” said Janeway, leaning over some form of spiky rodent for sale at one of the tents. The other four members of the away team had scattered ahead of them to sample food and inspect alien plants.

“I have never seen a hedgehog in person, so I will have to trust your assessment,” said Seven, running the tips of her metal fingers lightly over the animal’s quills. The small creature quivered pleasantly. Janeway stepped closer, and propped her chin on Seven’s shoulder, watching her attentions on the rodent. Seven smiled at the easy contact.

“Are you interested, my beauties?” asked the Bandoolian merchant operating the booth. “I’ll give you the best price in the colony. Two for one. You will never see a Tixit fly in your house again,” he offered.

“No thanks, we’re just passing through. No need to ward off Tixit flies,” smiled the Captain, scratching at the skin behind her ear.

As the couple idly strolled down the market’s boardwalk behind the others, Seven brushed the backs of her fingers against Janeway’s thigh. Janeway’s lip curled up one side as she tossed her loose hair. For a few bright moments, Kathryn allowed her own fingers to reach across, clasp together with Seven’s, and swing connected in the daylight. Seven smiled down at their hands, and had a niggling sensation that there was something she was meant to say to Kathryn, but could not recall what. It was on the tip of her tongue. The Captain hummed and stopped her stroll, breaking both their contact and Seven’s musings.

“I think I’m hungry. Have you eaten today?” Kathryn asked, scratching again at a spot by her ear.

“I consumed a nutritional supplement this morning before our departure in the shuttle.”

“Hmm,” she nodded, scanning the food tents around them. 

“I take it you did not.”

Janeway sighed at the blonde’s needling. “Are you brave enough to try _that_?” she asked, pointing at a rotating spit of purple-tinted meat.

Seven raised an eyebrow at the unknown eggplant-colored roast, and turned the skeptical eye back to auburn haired woman. “Are _you_?” she challenged.

Janeway laughed brightly. “I don’t know, Honey. I might be hungry enough to give it a go.”

A smile alighted Seven’s face at her casual use of the endearment, but her countenance quickly shifted to one of alarm.

“Kathryn, you are bleeding!” proclaimed the Borg, reaching toward the ear Janeway had been pestering.

The Captain furrowed her brow. “What?” she asked, reaching up to touch the offending ear, where blood now seeped out of its canal and down the lobe. She pulled her hand away and inspected the pads of her tapered fingers, now tipped in red.

“We must get you to the medical bay,” said Seven, tension coloring her tone.

Janeway swallowed with difficulty and widened her eyes. She blinked rapidly at her surroundings, turning her head to gain orientation. She raised a shaky hand to her temple. “Mm, Seven?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Something’s wrong.”

“Captain?” As Seven reached her hands out to steady the woman, Janeway half-collapsed into the blonde Borg. “Captain!” yelled Seven.

Janeway’s legs seemed to give out entirely at that point, and Seven lowered the woman to the boardwalk, supporting the Captain’s head and back with her left arm. Janeway’s eyes fluttered.

“Captain!” yelled Seven again, shaking the woman’s arm. Seven’s breath began coming out in shallow gasps, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilation. But surely that was impossible. Her nanoprobes had always regulated any respiratory imbalance before. 

“Captain! Captain Janeway!” she roared, jiggling a hand clutched around the Captain’s chin. Below her, Janeway’s eyes shut. It did not appear the woman could hear Seven at all. _This is not happening_.

By this point, the rest of the away team had run over to her side, alarmed at the volume emanating from the perpetually even-keeled Borg. B’Elanna, eyes wild, knelt beside the blonde. “What the hell happened?” she asked, grabbing hold of Janeway’s limp hands.

“I do not know!” wailed the Borg, chest heaving with some difficulty. “Moments ago she was undamaged. I noticed the bleeding in her ear. She said something was wrong and then she collapsed!” she cried, looking up at the Klingon in terror.

B’Elanna slapped her combadge, eyes never leaving Seven’s. “Torres to Bridge.”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” responded Chakotay.

“We have a medical emergency. Requesting immediate beam-out of the away team. Captain Janeway has collapsed and is unresponsive.”

“Acknowledged,” said Chakotay, voice raised with an edge. “Standby!”

Seconds ticked by with no transport. Seven exhaled, and likewise pounded the combadge on her chest.

“Seven of Nine to the Bridge, what is the status of our transport?” she said, voice raw with anxiety.

“Seven, it looks like the colony’s weapons grid is locking out our signals. We can’t beam you through,” said Harry Kim.

“Workaround, Ensign?” demanded Torres.

“We’re working on it, Lieutenant, but it doesn’t look promising.”

Seven released a growl of frustration and stood, lifting the small Captain easily to cradle across her arms as if she weighed nothing at all. Standing erect, the Borg took long, quick strides back towards the docking bay where their shuttle was located. B’Elanna, realizing exactly what the Borg was thinking, gestured for the rest of the away team to follow her. “Move out, team! Let’s go, let’s go!” the Klingon barked.

Slapping her combadge once more, the Chief Engineer yelled, “Torres to Bridge. We’re taking her on the shuttle. I repeat, we are taking her on the shuttle! Torres out!”

—

The entirety of the shuttle journey felt to Seven like she was underwater trying to discern garbled voices speaking to her from the surface. She sat on the bench along the shuttle wall behind the two piloting chairs, where Torres and Ayala manned the flight stations. Occasionally, Seven could focus enough to hear sentence fragments from the Chief Engineer back to the Bridge and CMO: “fever rising”... “bleeding stopped”... “bite behind the ear”... “toxins knocked her out.” Janeway was still held in her arms across her lap, her auburn crown curled under Seven’s chin. Blood drops from the sick woman’s ear stained the chest of Seven’s biosuit. She had refused all suggestions by her shipmates to let her Captain go.

Samantha Wildman was kneeling in front of Seven and the cradled Janeway, running the hand scanner continuously over the ill Captain. The blonde Ensign was relaying any and all readings from the tricorder to a dazed Ensign Murphy, who entered the information into a PADD for lack of anything more useful to do. Kathryn’s fever had steadily gotten worse since her collapse, with her body alternating between sprouting gooseflesh and sweating profusely. The nonresponsive Janeway shivered in Seven’s arms in either case, eyes shifting under her closed lids.

“She is in pain,” Seven croaked. Ensign Wildman’s head lifted away from her tricorder to meet the ex-Borg’s strained expression.

The watery-eyed Samantha sniffed, chin trembling. She swallowed to compose herself. “She’ll be alright, Seven,” she said, squeezing Seven’s knee with a sweetness that reminded the Borg of the Ensign’s daughter. “I don’t know anyone who fights harder than Captain Janeway.”

“Shuttle Tereshkova to Voyager,” said B’Elanna over the conn, pulling Seven’s attention away from the Ensign. “We are commencing docking procedures, please stand by,” said the Engineer flipping overhead switches in synchronicity with Ayala.

“Copy that, Tereshkova. You are cleared for docking. Medical personnel are on deck,” reported the Deck 10 officer on duty.

“Acknowledged,” said the engineer just as Voyager’s hull rose into Seven’s view, shuttle bay doors ajar. A modicum of tensity loosened inside Seven’s chest at the sight.

Abruptly, Janeway moaned through clench teeth, breaking the silence of the small cabin, and squirmed violently inside Seven’s grip. The shuttle’s small crew complement all startled at the pained sound from the woman.

“Captain!” said Seven, raising a hand to wipe away the sweat from Janeway’s damp temple. Samantha furiously ran the hand scanner over the Captain’s body again.

“Her fever is spiking,” said Samantha, reaching to feel Janeway’s hands and neck as if she disbelieved her own readings. “Gods, she’s roasting. I don’t think she should be awake with those toxins in her system, but the pain must be forcing her into consciousness.” Murphy paled as his trembling fingers struggled to record Samantha’s notes into his PADD. Janeway’s hands latched onto Seven’s arm and shoulder in a vise grip, still moaning through her rigid jaw in torment, eyes screwed shut. The chords in her neck strained and tensed madly.

“Captain, we are nearly to Voyager,” said Seven shakily.

“Just hold on, Captain!” yelled the Klingon from the pilot’s seat. “40 more seconds!”

Janeway doubled over in the Borg’s arms. She twisted to hang her head away from the two women around her and toward the shuttle floor below. She vomited what Seven deduced to be the entirety of her stomach contents: bile. Seven tightened her hold on the woman with one arm, and held back her copper hair with the other as she dry heaved, her insides devoid of anything else to throw up.

“20 seconds,” yelled the Klingon.

Seven adjusted her grip and rose, cradling the shivering Captain again; she walked to the Tereshkova’s exit door, preparing to run out at the earliest possible second. Seven looked about for something to grab and brace herself with, despite lacking a free hand to do so. Without being asked, Wildman and Murphy moved to stand on either side of her, each placing one hand against Seven’s sides, and the other holding the bar handles bolted into the upper bulkhead.

“Brace for impact! I’m coming in a little fast!” shouted B’Elanna.

“We’ve got her!” yelled Samantha.

“Touch down and doors open on my mark. Mark!” shouted the Chief Engineer, connecting the shuttle’s landing gear to Voyager’s bay floor, and flipping the control hatch to open the shuttle door in a simultaneous motion. The Tereshkova rocked angrily with the impact, but the stanchion of Ensigns on her flanks kept Seven from losing her footing. A second later, she shot out of the shuttle like a cannon. She jumped the last half meter distance between the ramp and the bay floor, impatient to wait for it to fully extend. The Borg loped as steadily as she possibly could across the shuttle bay toward the exit to the corridor, leaving half a dozen deck officers and 3 green-banded science Crewmen holding tricorders aloft in her wake.

She rounded the corner to the turbo lift, where two of Commander Tuvok’s Security officers were standing sentinel in the entrance of the compartment, ostensibly to ensure no other crewmember called the lift away from the Captain’s emergency in error. As Seven approached, one officer moved into the lift with her, ordering “Deck nine!” just as the Borg slid inside. The blonde looked down at the tortured Captain in her arms, still gnashing her teeth together to fight against what Seven knew was excruciating pain. The Borg heaved deep, shaky breaths at the sight.

“We are nearly there,” she said to her partner, though she doubted her words penetrated through the Captain’s suffering. Tuvok’s officer next to her swallowed hard as he caught sight of the Captain in the corner or his eye.

“Deck nine,” announced the computer’s feminine voice, and Seven was out like a bullet once again, leaving the Security Crewman behind. She looked up and saw The Doctor, Tom, and two other science officers standing in the medical bay doors, equipment in hand.

“We were walking in the marketplace,” she shouted, not wanting to waste any time in recounting her observations. “The Captain repeatedly abraded her right ear, and then I noticed the blood trailing out from its canal,” she said, marching through the sick bay doors. The staff turned to follow her. “She appeared disoriented, dizzy. She could not focus her vision.”

“Lay her down here, Seven,” instructed the Doctor, motioning to a clean biobed to her left.

“She told me something was wrong, and touched her head,” continued Seven rawly, lowering the small, writhing Captain down along the bed. “Then her legs weakened and she collapsed. She lost consciousness.”

“Seven,” said the Doctor, laying a hand on the shaking blonde’s shoulder. “We’ve got her now. You have to let go.”

Seven looked down and realized her arms were still underneath the Captain. She swallowed hard, and slid them out. Eyes still trained on Janeway’s face, she continued. “She began to shiver once we reached the shuttle; her fever rose. Sweat and chills followed. Just before we arrived, she awakened, but I believed her to be delirious.” Seven’s voice grew thick. “She seemed to be in immense pain. She vomited.”

Tom turned to his distraught friend. “That’s really helpful, Seven, thank you,” he said calmly. Seven shut her eyes to block against his placating tone. She suspected that was the kind of phrase most emergency medics were taught in order to mollify distressed individuals. “I know this is really difficult, but we’re going to need a little space to work on her.”

“I know,” she whispered, nodding. Seven backed away from Janeway until the backs of her thighs connected with an empty biobed near the wall. She reached back blindly, slouching against the end of the bed, transfixed by Kathryn’s pained expression, her graceful brow twisted in anguish. Janeway moaned loudly again through her clamped teeth, filling the room with her agony.

Moments later, she saw in her periphery the medical officers she had skirted in the shuttle bay escort the remainder of the away team onto empty beds dotting the sick bay. One of the officers moved in front of Seven and ran a hand scanner over her face, chest, and hands.

“I am undamaged,” she whispered, gaze still trained on Kathryn. 

“We’re not sure yet how the illness is transmitted. We have to determine if any of you are infected as well,” said the Trill female officer, whose name Seven did not know.

Seven stared blankly.

“Now, it says that she vomited,” said the woman, checking her PADD. “Did any of the fluid make contact with you or anyone else?”

“No. The Captain took great care even through her delirium to avert Ensign Wildman and myself.”

The Trill nodded. “Well, you’re not showing any evidence of infection at the moment, but you’ll have to come back for a follow-up in 8 hours.”

“I will not be leaving.”

The Trill female smiled sadly, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We will figure out what’s wrong and what to do to help her. Captain Janeway is not going to leave you, Seven.”

Not for the first time, Seven wondered how much the Voyager crew indeed knew of her relationship with their Captain.

The rest of the away team was apparently also cleared, because they and the nonessential science officers filed out shortly thereafter — all except B’Elanna Torres. The normally biting Chief Engineer approached Seven cautiously, reaching her hands out to clasp around the Borg’s thin arm and establish contact before speaking.

“Do you need me to get you anything?” she asked.

“No. Thank you,” Seven replied, glassy eyed. B’Elanna nodded.

“Do you want me to sit with you for a while?”

“That is not necessary,” the Borg rasped. “You are in all likelihood exhausted.”

“Tired? Me? I could chokeslam a Targ,” she smirked softly. “I’ll just stay here until I get bored of you,” the Klingon beauty joked. B’Elanna hoisted herself up on the biobed next to Seven, her legs dangling off the side. The pair sat in silence for a beat, watching the backs of the CMO, Tom, and the other medics as they moved around Janeway’s prone form. The Captain now had a cocktail of hypospray sedatives running through her veins. She shivered through her unconsciousness, but remained silent. Seven decided to say what her Captain could not.

“Lieutenant Torres,” began Seven quietly, “You performed your duties admirably today. Thank you.”

B’Elanna turned her head to look at the Borg, her heart breaking open for the young woman, guileless even in her despair. She reached around to the Borg’s opposite cheek to pull the blonde’s head closer. With as much tenderness as B’Elanna Torres was capable of mustering, she kissed the forlorn Seven sweetly on the swell of her cheek.

“Anytime, Casanova.”

  
  
  
  


###  **XII. A Hypospray Keeps the Doctor Away**

**Day 77**

Nearly 36 hours had passed since Kathryn Janeway took ill in the Bandooli colony on Terez. In that time, Voyager’s crew had learned a significant amount about the Tixit fly-borne illness that their Captain had contracted, but Janeway had thus far shown little improvement. 

Similar to Terran influenza, the Tixit flu was seasonal, only threatening the residents of Terez in the planet’s Spring months. The risk of contraction dropped off significantly when warmer temperatures killed off the Tixit fly infection as the planet approached Summer solstice. In a stroke of misfortune, the Voyager away team had visited Terez mere days before said solstice. The fact that the Captain had been bitten by a disease-carrying Tixit fly on the planet’s surface at that time of the season had been a statistical aberration. The rest of the away team had shown no signs of infection.

Normally, the Bandoolians managed the threat of Tixit flu through preventative inoculation, insect netting, repellant, and/or ownership of the Tixit fly-eating, quilled mungit that Seven and the Captain had spotted in the market. Seven mentioned the spiked mammalian to the Doctor in the early stages of Janeway’s treatment, but the suggestion bore no advantage. Once bitten, the precautionary ownership of the mungit was moot.

The Doctor had been in frequent communication with the colony’s Health Minister, who assured Voyager’s CMO that if their Captain managed to survive the first 40 hours after the illness’s incubation, the chances of her survival were good. However, the Bandoolians knew of no cure post infection beyond time and patience. The only thing to do was let the illness run its course. Unfortunately, the rapacious sickness resulted in fatality in approximately twenty percent of cases.

The lack of an aggressive treatment had left the EMH with few options for the Captain’s medical care. Much to his own frustration, the best he could offer the sick woman was mild pain killers and intravenous fluids to help combat the ravaging fevers the flu induced. The intense illness seemed to have affected the human Janeway far worse than a typical Bandoolian. She had been noticeably blazing to the touch since her infection, and even 36 hours later, her fever still raged. To cool her skin as much as possible, the Doctor had stripped her down to nothing, save for two thin modesty sheets placed over her chest and hips. Though the sedation drugs the EMH had initially administered to her wore off within the first 24 hours, the Captain had remained unconscious.

Through it all, Seven refused to leave her side. The Borg had been Janeway’s constant shadow in the quiet sick bay. She had held her hand, repeatedly scanned for her vitals, and, in the absence of any medical solution, had taken to wiping down the Captain’s feverish skin with a cool cloth twice every hour.

“She’ll wake when her body is ready to do so, Seven. You need to consider your own health. You must regenerate,” the Doctor had urged earlier that afternoon, as the blonde attendant brushed a cold fabric carefully down Janeway’s arm.

“I will regenerate after she is well,” said the Borg without pausing her movements. The Doctor, recognizing a lost cause, had simply left the young woman to her solitude.

Hours later, Seven still sat alone in a chair at the Captain’s bedside reading a PADD in the darkness and with her metallic hand atop Kathryn’s fevered arm; the CMO had deactivated himself hours before. The deck was silent enough for her to hear the turbo lift ding down the hall and footstep approach the sick bay entrance. Seven checked the chronometer — 02:00 hours.

The doors to the bay opened to reveal Voyager’s morose First Officer, standing darkly in the frame. Seven was unsurprised by his late visit. She suspected he had rested as much as she had the past two days. The Commander glanced at Seven and then over to his sick Captain, swallowing with effort before walking over to stand by her side. His eyes rooted to the Captain’s fine face. “How is she?” he croaked. Seven drew a sullen breath.

“She burns.”

Chakotay reached out to press the backs of his fingers against the Captain’s cheek before dragging them down her neck and shoulder, testing her temperature for himself. He shut his eyes and nodded.

Seven swallowed, and thrust her PADD in his direction. “Commander, I am duty bound to alert you to my findings, which may affect your interpretation of the events surrounding the Captain’s illness.”

Chakotay’s marked brow wrinkled as he accepted the tablet.

“I have completed my analysis of the spatial grid Voyager will be entering in five days. I discovered that we will be passing through a system containing an M-class planet within 107 hours of our new trajectory. If I had finished my analysis earlier, the Captain would have known that a trade mission on Terez was unnecessary before leaving the grid. We could have planned to restock our inventory at the next M-class planet in less than a fortnight, and avoided the Bandooli colony altogether. Instead…” The Borg broke off, unable to finish. She blinked hard. “The fault is mine.”

Chakotay huffed a breath and placed the PADD on the edge of the biobed. “The Captain’s illness is not your fault, Crewman. This whole thing has been miserable random chance, and...” He rubbed a hand through his black hair, peppered with gray. “Look, I know I haven’t exactly rolled out the welcome wagon for you since you arrived, but frankly your bond to Kathryn is a difficult pill for me to swallow.”

Seven stared up at him, unsure of what to say. The Commander sighed heavily.

“Before she brought you to Voyager, Kathryn and I went on a science expedition to an M-class planet devoid of intelligent life. I knew nature to be an interest we shared, and convinced her that we should both go. What we hadn’t realized on our away mission, was that we’d contracted a highly contagious disease on the surface. We both became very ill.” His eyes softened in his gaze of the Captain. “To avoid further contagion on Voyager, we had to return to the planet — just the two of us — and search for a cure while our ship gradually warped away from us.”

Chakotay reached down to clasp the small woman’s hand, eyes yearning.

“I knew Kathryn was unsettled being stranded in a place so far from our responsibilities and purpose. She worked so hard day and night to find a cure to save us, to return us to our mission. She was agitated and relentless.”

He smiled sadly at his recollection. “I, however, could scarcely remember a time I’d been happier.” He squeezed Janeway’s hand.

“I did everything I could think of to take her mind away from her tasks, and make her content on our planet.” Chakotay shook his head. “I knew she was unhappy, but I couldn't see beyond my own selfishness to be her partner in finding a solution. I just wanted her to be happy with me. I wanted to _make_ her happy. I wanted _her_. Without the noise of her responsibilities. Without the burden of her Captaincy.”

Seven looked down at her metal-laced hand, and flexed the fingers in and out, considering. “We cannot isolate and remove parts of an individual and still possess their sum. It would be an undefined algebraic expression. It is impossible to divide terms with nothing, and I would not wish to do so. To me, she is the Captain. She is Kathryn. She is Katie. Beautiful and complete.”

The Commander at last turned his gaze toward the earnest young woman, and inhaled deeply, as if something had finally clicked into place. “You’re what she wants. Spirits, it’s more than that. You’re what she needs, Seven,” he smiled ruefully. “I wish it hadn’t taken this for me to see it,” he said skimming his hand along her scalding shoulder.

Despite herself, she felt a twinge of sympathy for the pining First Officer. Seven could not comprehend longing for Kathryn Janeway as deeply as she did, but having no hope of her returned affections. She suspected Chakotay had quite a melancholy existence. Seven could not give the Commander what he wanted, but she could offer him something truthful. “Kathryn depends upon so few, but she does rely on you, Commander. You are very important to her,” she stated, eyeing the woeful man.

His eyes crinkled. “I appreciate the gesture, Seven.”

—

The ship’s ambient hum and digital chirps filtered piecemeal into Seven’s consciousness as the Borg slowly gathered her awareness. Seven did not remember falling asleep — a limited occurrence for the regeneration-dependent ex-Borg to be sure — but apparently she drifted off in the night after Commander Chakotay had taken his leave. Her eyes flickered and squinted against the harshness of the morning-lit medical bay, disoriented in her inexperience with natural waking. She lifted her head off of the edge of the biobed, and rolled her neck against the kinks of her awkward slumber. Across the bay to her right, she saw Lieutenant Paris, snoring deeply, legs and arms akimbo, sprawled atop a biobed. Apparently, the helmsman had slinked in last night after she fell into her unexpected doze, and then conked out himself.

“Mmm.”

Seven’s stomach leapt into her throat as she whipped her head toward the sound. Janeway’s eyelids twitched and fought against her hibernation. Seven gasped, and shot up from her chair to hover over the Captain. She brought a hand to the other woman’s cheek.

“Kathryn?” cried Seven. “Can you hear me?”

The Captain furrowed her brow, again fighting her exhaustion to open her eyes. “Mmm,” she repeated. Seven gasped.

“Lieutenant Paris!” called the blonde in the slumbering pilot’s direction. He snorted, but did not stir. “ _Tom_!” she bellowed.

“Huh? Whassat?” he slurred, sitting up sharply. 

“She is waking!” 

Tom turned to her direction, taking a beat for the sleep to clear his mind and the meaning of her words to sink in. “Oh, shit!” he said hoarsely, sliding off the bed and tripping over his own feet. He recovered his bearings and stumbled over toward the two women, still sloppy in his waking. He blinked widely to clear his vision, grabbed the tricorder attached to the side of the bed, and began running the scanner over the Captain.

“She is much cooler to the touch,” said Seven, her voice saturated with relief.

Tom smiled and nodded, reading the measurements on his instrument. “Yeah, her fever is almost completely gone!”

“Se—,” Janeway tried before swallowing and coughing dryly. “Seven?” she finally uttered, voice hoarse from disuse.

“Do not overtax yourself,” she said, placing a comforting hand over Janeway’s sternum.

Tom jostled his head. “Oh right,” he mumbled. “Computer, activate Emergency Medical Hologram.”

“Please state the nature of the medical—”

“She’s awake!” interrupted Tom.

The hologram turned his attention to the Captain. “Excellent!” he delighted, grabbing Tom’s tricorder out of his hands, and unceremoniously shoving him out of the way. The pilot grunted. “Let’s see, fever has dropped quite significantly. Very good. Hydration levels are maintaining. Steady heart rate. And no evidence of the Tixit infection. I think she’s out of the woods!”

“She is barely able to open her eyes,” said Seven, brushing a thumb over Kathryn’s cheekbone.

“Yes, drowsiness is a side effect of the sedation anesthesia I initially administered. Of course, the illness alone would have knocked her flat. I can give her something for the fatigue,” he said, injecting a hypospray into the Captain’s neck with a mechanical hiss.

Instantly, the supine woman blinked her eyes widely and fluttered them against the light above her. Her gaze roved around to eventually rest on the blonde Borg leaning over to her. Seven’s face split into a wide grin at seeing Kathryn’s slate-blue eyes for the first time in days. Seven stroked Janeway’s hair back from her forehead. The Captain blinked heavily and did her best to smile back. 

“Kathryn,” Seven sighed, eyes soft.

“Have I been out a long time?” she asked of the Borg, voice cracking.

“Approximately 41 hours, Captain. You’ve just come out the other side of a very nasty bout of Tixit flu,” answered the Doctor.

“Tixit flu,” she repeated, closing her eyes. “Guess we should’ve bought that hedgehog,” she quipped, lifting an eyebrow to the blonde beauty.

Seven choked out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I would be glad to purchase an entire litter if you wish.”

“My, my, someone’s certainly head over heels,” muttered the Doctor under his breath, eyebrow raised at the dreamy-eyed blonde.

Seven, who was oblivious to anything beyond Kathryn’s face, had not heard the CMO’s pointed comment. She brushed her fingertips through Janeway’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Just a little tired,” Janeway said, her breath coming out in shallow pants.

“Tired is likely putting it mildly,” interjected the persnickety Doctor. “I want you on a protein-heavy diet with plenty of fluids for the next week to compensate for your severe fatigue and dehydration. I’m ordering three days of bedrest before you even think about a duty shift. And then three more days after that before I recommend you engage in any… _physical_ activities.”

“Charming,” breathed Janeway. “I take it you’re also aware of my private affairs.”

“Given our resident Borg’s unceasing vigil by your sickbed — not to mention her infamous Senior Staff meeting _soliloquy_ — it wasn’t very difficult to surmise,” the Doctor said dryly. “The proverbial cat is out of the bag.”

“That would be cat spelled K-A-T,” snarked the helmsman with a wink.

“Oh, hello, Mister Paris,” deadpanned Janeway, noticing the pilot standing behind the Doctor for the first time.

“Well hey there, Dorothy,” grinned Tom, stepping up to the side of her bed. “It’s me, the Helmscrow, and Seven, the Tin Woman,” he joked tapping a finger on the Borg’s starburst metal implant on her jawbone. “And look at that, we’ve even got the Holographic Lion,” the pilot said, gesturing to the EMH, who clearly did not understand the reference.

Janeway rolled her eyes sleepily. “There’s no place like home.”

Tom placed a hand on the Captain’s bare shoulder. “If you’re already rolling your eyes at my jokes, then you’ll be back on the Bridge in no time. You know, it’s a real shame you weren’t in Kansas anymore when your girl flew into action and carried you bridal-style across Voyager’s literal threshold. The ship’s all atingle about it.”

Janeway reached out to grab Seven’s hand and squeezed. “I’m afraid that’s pretty hazy for me.”

“You were delirious,” Seven explained unnecessarily.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it when you’re back in uniform,” said Tom, chancing a quick glance down at her near-nakedness. “Until then, sleeping beauty, get some rest. I’ll tell the Bridge crew you finally clicked your heels together and made it back.”

Tom squeezed her shoulder in farewell. As he jogged Fleet-training-style out of the bay, he crooned, “Come out, come out, wherever you are! And meet the young Captain who fell from a star!” in a bastardized falsetto imitation of Glinda, the Good Witch, voice echoing down the corridor.

The Doctor wrinkled his finely-pixelated brow and looked down at the Captain. She shook her head. “Don’t ask.”

“With him? I never do, Captain,” said the EMH haughtily. “Well, I’ll let you two ladies, ah, have some time to yourselves,” he finished, backing away into his office.

Once alone, Janeway tugged Seven’s hand, pulling the platinum woman closer.

“Did you really wait with me all this time? God, you must be so exhausted, Honey.”

Seven smiled and shook her head. Surely, Kathryn understood something so fundamental by now? “It was nothing. My place is here with you, Katie.”

She leaned down, and kissed her sweetly on each cheek, and then lingeringly on her lips. Seven moved back and stared into Kathryn’s blue-gray eyes. “With you, I am home.”

  
  
  
  


###  **XIII. So Shines A Captain’s Good Deed in a Weary Borg**

**Day 82**

Seven of Nine languidly stroked her fingers through lengthy, auburn hair, breathing easily. Kathryn lay prone, skin to skin, atop the blonde’s body, with her cheek pressed against the beating pulse of Seven’s strong heart. Their legs tangled together below. It was Voyager’s last day in spatial grid 21-300.

Against medical advice, the pair had resumed their ‘physical activities’ earlier that night a mere five instead of the recommended six days after Janeway’s recovery. Seven had been reluctant, concerned with pushing Kathryn’s weakened body too far, too fast, until the Captain’s insistence and wickedly dexterous form of persuasion had caused the blonde to fold. Persuasion aside, Seven found she had needed the contact with her partner to reiterate her Captain’s health and aliveness in Seven’s mind. Kathryn was here. She was healthy.

“I demand that you never leave me again!” Seven had ordered rawly during the heat of their earlier coupling.

“I won’t. I won’t, Honey,” she committed before kissing her lips down to the younger woman’s sex. Seven had keened indecorously.

The Captain, unbearably antsy to leave the confines of her quarters, had returned to duty two days ago to the colossal relief of her crew. Everywhere she went, her bright Crewmen had smiled in greeting. “You’re looking well, Captain.” “Good to have you back, Captain.” “Happy to see you on the mend, ma’am.” On and on. Even her precious, reserved Tuvok reacted to her appearance with his own version of open weeping when he said evenly, “I am gratified by your presence on the Bridge, Captain, as I was deeply concerned for your condition.” Janeway had confessed to Seven over dinner that everyone’s effusive cheer at seeing her back at work had been a bit startling.

“You were very ill, Kathryn,” Seven had explained quietly. “Many of them saw you in agony and there was nothing they could do to aid you. It was deeply distressing. Their relief merely expresses how significantly they regard you.”

Kathryn had frowned sympathetically at Seven’s words, and leaned over to kiss her. “I am sorry I put you all through that,” she whispered. Seven took her hand.

“The circumstances were out of your control,” Seven placated and pressed her full lips against the Captain’s smooth palm. “And you are whole now,” Seven murmured against the soft skin.

The crew also came to the ‘proper conclusions’ about the relationship between the two women (though it seemed increasingly likely that they already knew.) Indeed, the Kat was out of the bag. Further startling to the Captain was how little everyone seemed to care about it. She had remarked as much to B’Elanna yesterday during her check-in with the Engineering Chief.

“Well, you’re not that interesting,” B’Elanna had joked.

The Captain raised a perturbed eyebrow at the saucy Klingon. “I am extremely interesting, Lieutenant,” she had said in her Bridge voice.

Torres laughed, shrugging. “What can I say? I think you should have had a little more faith in them, Captain.”

She dropped her chin at the rapprochement. “You’re probably right.”

Hours later, she had questioned Seven about her sentiments regarding their new public status.

“As I said at the onset of our attachment, what others think or know of our relationship is irrelevant to me,” Seven told her.

“Of course,” Janeway smiled ruefully.

“Are _you_ vexed by our public attachment?” inquired the Borg.

Kathryn paused in contemplation. “No, not really,” she shook her head. “I’m a very private person regardless, so I won’t be acting out any public displays of affection or spreading around information about our business. But, of course I’m proud to be with you. It was never about that, so no. If it doesn’t bother them, it doesn’t bother me.”

With a goal of easing Kathryn’s mind, Seven had verified for herself the crew’s general acceptance of their relationship in a conversation with Crewman Tal earlier that day. Her Bajoran subordinate had been all too eager to discuss Seven’s regard for the petite Captain when she brought her up as they worked over a console together in the otherwise vacant Astrometrics lab.

“I think it’s all so romantic, Seven. I mean, you find each other amongst uncharted stars after she rescues you from an evil Queen. And then you sort of save her too, in your own way, from the isolation of her duty,” Tal mooned, placing a hand over her chest.

“Fine, but to clarify, our attachment does not trouble you or, to your knowledge, other members of the crew?” Seven said, cutting to the point of the subject and choosing not to linger over Tal’s maudlin drama.

“No way! Why would it?” assured Tal, placing a kind hand on Seven’s arm. “Everyone is so loyal to Captain Janeway, and we all just want what’s best for her.” Tal smirked. “Don’t get me wrong. I think there’s _definitely_ a lot of prying curiosity about it, not that anyone would ever let on to the Captain, but it doesn’t come from a bad place.”

“Curiosity?” inquired Seven. She sighed. “I will never understand the interest in another person’s intimate relations.”

Tal laughed and returned to her coding at the conn. “Um, maybe because you’re both insanely beautiful women who kiss and fuck and share a bed together?” The Bajoran shrugged. “It’s sophomoric, but there it is.”

Seven, having no insight to add to that statement, shifted the topic. “Several weeks ago, you mentioned that ‘everyone’ believed me to be the Captain’s favorite. How did you arrive at this notion?”

Tal lifted a shoulder. “It was obvious. She’d done so much to save you in the first place, and help you ever since. Little things, like spending her off duty time with you. The way she looked at you, and stood up for you. How invested she was in your happiness. She even let you argue with her whenever you wanted!”

“This behavior was unique to me?” queried the Borg.

“She never acted that way with anyone else. Not completely,” Tal responded seriously. “She would do anything for you, and it showed. Not even the Captain could hide that.”

Hours removed from the conversation with Tal, Seven reflected further on their relationship as she stroked through Kathryn’s hair, their chests expanding and contracting together as if they shared one breath. She considered the statistical anomaly that it was. That they would even meet amongst the overwhelming vastness of the universe was a virtual impossibility, let alone weld and hammer their connection into the strong alloy that it was now. They had transfigured their relation to one another from sworn enemy upon first meeting to faithful partner, against all conceivable likelihood. It was extraordinary.

“I can feel your mind turning,” husked Kathryn against Seven’s chest.

Seven pressed her mouth and nose into the crown of Kathryn’s head. “I am thinking about our attachment. The statistical improbability of it. Its nature.”

“Mmm,” she responded by way of encouragement.

Seven gathered her thoughts, and in the comforting stillness of the night, the naked Captain nestled against her own bare body, fingers running through copper hair, she began.

“I find myself searching for the reason for my devotion in the pieces of the life we live together. In the ambitious, intrepid navigation through infinite space. In the exploration of planets and species unseen by any other human. In the observation of stellar phenomena no other living being has ever witnessed. In the combustion of supernovae burning thousands of lightyears away. In the very creation of life itself in primordial worlds too virulent for our tender skin.”

Janeway blinked slowly, Seven’s hushed and even voice lulling her into a calming trance.

“There is such grandeur in our existence together, so surely a feeling so significant to me must reside in those places. But,” she shook her head into Kathryn’s hair, “it does not. I find, instead, the testimonies of my devotion lie in the small mundanities of our life. The parliamentary nature of our morning meetings. The rote comfort of a duty shift. Sharing meals together. Walking with you through the corridors. Arranging our ship-grown orchids for you. Seeing you laugh with our friends. Witnessing your small kindnesses. Holding your beautiful hands. _That_ is where the feeling lives. It abides _there_ ,” she said wrapping her arms tighter around Kathryn and squeezing in emphasis.

“I have integrated the thoughts and emotions of _billions_ of individuals across incalculable time and distances into my singular mind. But in all that searching, I have never found another feeling that equals the one I have for you.” Seven drew a shaky breath in awe. “It is joy! It must be. Or ecstasy. Euphoria. An all-encompassing rapture. What you have given me! It is so much, Katie!” She drew in a gasping, shuddering breath, completely overcome. “It is so much!”

Kathryn rose, eyes sparkling with tears, and straddled the young woman. She leaned forward and, taking Seven’s face in both of her hands securely, kissed her panting lips, her jaw, her forehead.

“It’s alright, Honey, it’s alright,” Kathryn comforted through her own tears. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Seven looked up at Kathryn in wonderment. “Ooooh,” she breathed in realization. _That it is what I feel. That is what permeates every trace of my consciousness. That is what I am meant to say._

“Yes,” she breathed looking into her partner’s eyes, “I love you. I love you, Katie. You are in everything, and I love you.”

Kathryn sobbed aloud. The Captain wrapped her arms around the blonde, drawing her close much like she had a year prior in Voyager’s brig when Seven was newly severed and distraught in her isolation. Holding her. Loving her. Seven felt her sharp and intense passion for Kathryn Janeway then and now, all at once, and time was a flat circle. Yes, she realized the feeling was there, even then, when she was gray in pallor and armored in coldness, and later besides, when she was pale, and unfinished, and soft. And now, it rolled over anew, and Seven fell in love with Katie all over again. And again. Infinite agains.

Kathryn tucked down and brought their lips together. Seven closed her eyes into the deep kiss, and was surprised to feel moisture streak down her own cheeks. Seven had never wept before.

Her Katie pulled back, and laughed through her own tears. “Love in the mundane, hm?”

“Yes, Captain,” she affirmed with a watery grin. “It is perfection.”


End file.
